Ambrosia of the Sea
by Stefynae
Summary: The death of Bootstrap is only one of many events explained in this prequel to the movie. Warning: contains apples, rum, and all other manner of pirate things. Complete.
1. Lament

Disclaimer:  I do not own 'Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl", Disney, or any of its affiliates.  But, by Jove, I wish I did...

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Part One: 1718—

11 Years Before the Death of Barbossa, 

1.5 Weeks After the Mutiny Aboard the Black Pearl

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Chapter 1

            "Gone!  Oh, saints preserve us!  Everything—gone!"

Deep in the heart of the Caribbean, in the rancid town of Tortuga, in a tavern with a reputation worse than that of the devil himself, a defeated soul lamented over all that was lost to her—with the help of the strongest whiskey the barkeeper had on-hand.

            "All that I've worked for!  Everything I've LIVED for—_GONE_!"

The din cloaking the vociferous horde in the building could not drown out the cries of the woman.  She ignored their annoyed looks—or perhaps failed to notice them.  She continued ranting in a most pathetic state—arms flailing, tears falling, great gasps of air as she attempted to calm herself, and the great clash of glass against wood as she slammed her bottle down upon the table and dropped her head in one final, dramatic moment.

            "Not even sea-fairing men," she whispered to a mouse scampering under the table.  Re-emerging with a crumb of bread, the creature took a long look at her miserable condition, whiskers twitching and tiny head tilted as he nibbled on his newfound feast.  At the first note of her second wave of wailing, however, the mouse was smart to run off.  "DamnthemALL!" the visitor cried, one word running into the next as she threw her head back and shook her fist at the ceiling.  

            The man behind the bar watched her spectacle closely; he took heed of the crowd's disapproval of her behavior, of her dirty face, torn clothes, and disheveled hair.

            "Damnthem allto HELL!" she screamed, pulling back her left hand to hurl the whiskey bottle at the nearest target.

            "Believe that's enough fer tonight, Missy," the barkeeper said as he tore the flask from her hands.  She lunged at him, crying out for the alcohol, her "only salvation!"

            Across the table an older woman sat; the woman who had been kind enough—or bored enough—to listen to the young woman's story.

            "Give tha' back, ye villainous pig!" the visitor screamed, climbing over the large man in an effort to reach the container.  With one swift move, however, she was thrown back into her seat, nearly toppling over onto the floor.  "If I paid fer a drin'," she started quietly, "I deserve to bloody DRINK IT!"  The empty glasses on the table rattled as she thrust her fist upon it.  The barkeeper looked to Maria—the prostitute that had been listening to the raving woman.  Maria smiled and shrugged her shoulders, ignoring the fact that her blouse slipped further down her slender arms.  Rolling his eyes, the large man slammed the bottle back onto the table, jolting the young woman.

            "Fine," he hissed at her, bent so low he could easily smell her alcohol-laden breath, "but if I hear one more outburst from you, I'll be throwin' you and yer damned whiskey out that yonder door!"  He pointed toward the entrance, but the woman didn't follow his lead.  Instead, she stared him straight in the eye as she raised the bottle to her lips, letting the burning liquid coat her throat and drag her into a numb ecstasy.  The barkeeper sighed, turned around and went about his work.

The woman took a long swig, never taking her eyes off of the large man until he went into the back to fetch extra supplies.  Still drinking steadily, she turned to Maria, who raised an eyebrow and shook her fiery red head.  The young woman pulled the bottle from her mouth and gasped for air.  Crossing her arms, Maria glared at her.  

Then she jumped as the woman pounded her pretty brunette head against the table and howled.

Xanke—the barkeeper—back from his task, made a move to silence the querulous young woman, but stopped when Maria raised her hand to him.  The woman sobbed into her folded arms, the whiskey bottle nearly empty beside her.  Maria stood up and took the flask to Xanke.

            "That woman is a menace," he said through gritted teeth.  Maria laughed, putting one leg up on the nearest stool and exposing her pale skin to three hungry pirates down the bar.  She winked at them before asking for a bottle of rum.        

            "That's for me, idiot," she answered when Xanke gave her a threatening look.  He reluctantly handed over the bottle, reminding her she still needed to fill her quota for the night.  "I'm workin' on it," she said sternly, taking a swig and winking again at the three prospects seated not too far from her.  They licked their lips and shifted in their seats, as if waiting for the starting pistol to signal the beginning of the race for Maria.  The provocatively dressed woman lowered her leg and turned her back to the three starving men.  Leaning down to the newcomer—still sobbing melodramatically into her shirt—she said quietly,

            "If yeh need anything, honey, yeh just let me know."  She squeezed the young woman's shoulder and whispered, "Ol' Maria'll take care of yeh."

Just then the door of the tavern banged open, causing a rambunctious crowd to grow eerily silent.  Maria quickly threw herself down into the chair next to the woman as a group of men entered the bar.  Their leader came through the door first—his commanding presence caused shivers to run up and down Maria's spine.  His silhouette contrasted heavily with the luminous blue moonlight streaming in from outside.  Pausing in the doorframe, he acted as a magnet—all eyes turned to him.  Even the young woman quieted her sobs long enough to turn her head to look at the new arrivals.

The shadow man took one step forward and out of the shadow of the moon.  He was tall with misty blue eyes, an unusually large nose, and a slight limp.  His enormous, rather ugly hat indicated that he was obviously their captain.  Behind him followed a wide range of the foulest scum of the earth the visitor had ever seen.  The captain took a few more steps forward, observing the place; his eyes ran quickly over the woman—barely noticing her—and stopped at the sight of Maria.  His upper lip twitched as he turned to his men.

            "Enjoy yer night off, gents," he said with a smile.  His crew shouted their approval as they rushed passed him—some to the bar, others straight to the awaiting women sprawled across the space.  The captain straightened his dark blue coat and large hat before turning around.  The woman guessed him to be around thirty years of age.  She observed him quietly through watery eyes—strong, intimidating...everything a pirate captain should be.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she noticed his pistol and cutlass.

            "Maria," she said suddenly, startling the woman next to her.  "Who—?"

            "Captain Barbossa," she said with a salacious look upon her face, "of The Black Pearl."

            "The Black Pearl?" the woman repeated, turning around and back again to look at the man walking toward them.  "But I thought—"

            "Maria," came a low growl from behind her.  The woman in questioned looked three feet above the visitor's head and into the tanned face of Barbossa.  Her seductive smirk was followed by a slow removal from her seat.  She left her blouse as it was—halfway off of her.

            "Captain," she teased as she stood up and fell immediately into his arms.  "Back again so soon?" she asked as he kissed her neck.

            "Soon?  It's been three months," he said into her hair.

            "It's seemed three years."  She moaned as he captured her mouth with his own.

The poor woman below them was trapped between two eager bodies and one very solid table.  She attempted to close her ears off as she tapped her fingers against the wood, hoping they'd retire to a more vertical position elsewhere.  All around her there was joy—a pirate crew very thankful for and obviously enjoying their night off.  Her depression grew deeper as she waited, her gaze falling upon Maria's rum.  Her eyes glazed over, her fingers reached out...

And then she watched the flask fall over as Maria was pushed against the table.  She closed her eyes, not wanting to bare witness to the unfortunate demise of a perfectly decent bottle of rum.  

Instead of crashing to the floor, however, Captain Barbossa took hold of it with one hand, holding fast to Maria with the other.  He pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a long, slow swig.  Maria kissed his face and neck while the woman next to her watched in horror as the precious alcohol disappeared.

            "Come now, Cap'n," Maria demanded, tearing the bottle away from her companion.  "I can think of many a better place te put those lips of yourns."  The captain growled and kissed her again.

            "Pearl's anchored fer the night," he said, already attempting to undress the prostitute.  The younger woman failed to notice their savage-like behavior, instead concentrating on the half-empty bottle of rum calling to her.

            "Then let's enjoy this night in a more comfortable, an' less public, settin', shall we?" said Maria as she pulled away from the man.  Taking his hand, she led him to the stairs.  As they ascended, cheers rained down upon them from the captain's crew.  He nodded in acknowledgement, trying hard to conceal his smirk.

That night, as Xanke took stock, he counted missing four shot glasses, two chairs, a bottle of rum, and one very determined, very _drunk_, young woman.

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Please review.


	2. Drunk Monkey

Thanks for the reviews, mates.  I'm trying to get these chapters out pretty quick, and they'll keep coming as long as I get feedback.  Hope you like it!

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 2

           "I will _not sit back doin' nothing, knowing that those damned redcoats have everything o' mine!"_

The crisp sea breeze carried the young woman's voice far out across the dark waters of the Caribbean.  With bottle of rum at her feet, she rowed out to The Black Pearl, ebony sails floating lightly against the blue light of the moon.  She stood proud and strong, with all the everlasting intimidation that a pirate ship carries.  The girl's breath caught in her throat, resulting in a pitiful sob.  

            "Come off it!" she screamed into the night, not caring if anyone heard her.  The Pearl was but fifty yards out; she figured that Barbossa left a few of his men on board—just in case some idiot tried to commandeer her—and just as she expected, two dark spheres jutted out from below deck, peering into the darkness, attempting to locate the source of the noise they had heard.  She could barely make out their voices, arguing about which direction the cry came from.  Quickly changing direction, she headed for the stern of the ship, arms aching from the weight of water against oars.  Her eyes didn't leave the figures until they pulled their heads back, defeated and probably not caring if they didn't find the intruder...just yet.

As she came up on the Pearl, she pulled the oars into her tiny boat, grabbed the rum, and stood (or rather stumbled) up.  Taking another swig, she looked over the beauty before her.

            "As fine a ship I ever saw," she whispered, reaching out as if to touch the wood.  After reaching too far and nearly toppling over into the sea, she threw the bottle into the bottom of her vessel and rolled up her sleeves.  "Now, how the hell am I..." The Pearl stretched far above the surface of the water, her rudder being impossible to climb.  "Damn," the woman cursed, falling back onto the bench and grabbing the rum.  She brought it to her lips but stopped before drinking.  

The moonlight lit up the line that held the starboard anchor near her.  Slowly lowering the bottle, she let a devious smirk curl her lips.  After securing the bottle between her belt and pants, she flung herself into the cool waters of the Atlantic.  She thanked the higher powers for the moon that night; it lit up the bay and provided her with a decent path to the anchor.  She cursed herself, however, for getting so drunk.

            "Goddamnit!" she slurred as she burst through the surface, blood flowing from her calf after striking it against the sharp fix.  "Curse me and my damned cursing," she sneered as she fell back into the water, disappearing from view of the two men who had been searching for her before.  They took a good look around, squinting their eyes, searching the black waters.  When she assumed they were gone, she resurfaced, gasping for air.  Reminding herself why she was putting herself through this type of hell, she began climbing, ignoring the pain surging through her entire body—the sting of her cut, the throbbing of her muscles, and the strain on her heart and lungs.  

She reached the railing just in time to see the two men retire back below deck.  Pulling herself lethargically over the side, she landed ungracefully on her backside against the wooden boards.  She cursed (as was custom) and moaned, heaving herself from the timber.  As she stood, swaying slightly from lack of a focused vision, she took stock of what lay before her.

            "A magnificent ship, indeed," she said as she reached for her bottle.  She had to bite her tongue to keep from swearing as loud as she could; the bottle wasn't there.  Running back to the railing, she could barely make out the sparkle of glass as her rum floated out to see.  She pounded the barrier hard, ignoring another addition to her pain.

            "What the bloody hell is goin' on?" she heard from behind her.  "I'm tellin' yeh, there's someone aboard The Pearl...and it ain't just us!"  She saw the men emerge just as she climbed the stairs to the nearest cabin door.  The man who had spoke was short and balding, but proved his strength by slugging the other, taller, man over the head, who had rolled his eyes—one made out of wood—at his suspicions.  The woman threw open the door and ducked inside, watching them closely through the window.

            "I told you there was nothin' aboard," the taller man sneered.  The man next to him clenched his jaw and drew his sword.  

            "Are you callin' me a liar?" he growled.  The other man threw up his arms and drew out his own cutlass.

            "Not a liar," he said, clashing blades, "just a jumpy bastard!"

The woman smiled, lowering herself to the ground, not caring about the outcome of their battle.  She dropped her head between her knees to calm the effects the alcohol had upon her head.  Deciding (stupidly) that the only way to stop the hangover was to continue the drinking, she got up and searched the cabin.

            "Ah ha!  There yeh are, love," she cooed when she found the stock.  She poured the aged drink into her welcoming mouth, surveying the cabin she stood in.  "Not bad, Barbossa," she said to herself, assuming—with the extravagantly dressed bed and assortment of other goods only a captain would own—that the space did indeed belong to the man in charge.  She ran her hand over the silk bed hangings, the hand-carved wardrobe, the mahogany dining table—all the while downing the bottle of rum.  She stopped at a bowl full of bananas that occupied the center of the table.  Picking one up, she scowled.

            "What I wouldn' give for a damned apple..." she sighed, throwing the fruit back into its basket.  Behind her came an animal-like screech, and as she turned, her gaze fell upon a small monkey.  It scurried around her feet; she tried to kick it away, but ended up tripping over it instead.  She fell hard into the end of the bed, hitting her head and falling unconscious to the ground.

The bottle of rum fell out of her hands, spilling onto the floor, inviting a thirsty monkey to try a sip.

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            "Captain!"  Barbossa squinted against the harsh sunlight of late morning, eyeing one of his crew; a tall black man with decorations Barbossa himself didn't even know the name to walked slowly toward him...carrying a woman in his arms.

A filthy, injured young woman, unconscious due to drink.

Barbossa had had a lovely night with Maria, and he didn't want it to be ruined by some headstrong stowaway.

            "What the hell is it?" he called, throwing on his hat to shield his pale eyes from the sun.

            "It's a woman, sir," came the answer.  Barbossa rolled his eyes.

            "I know that, you idiot!  What is she doin' _here?"  The large colored man—by the name Bo'sun—reached his captain and readjusted the limp body in his arms.  He closed his eyes and answered through clenched teeth,_

            "I don't know, sir."  Barbossa eyed him askance, then looked down to the young woman.

            "She's been hurt," he observed.  Certainly the welt on her forehead had grown increasingly large and colorful during the night, almost averting the attention away from the dried blood cloaking her leg.  He sighed—the last thing he needed was a filthy beggar aboard his ship, asking to be swept away on an adventure or some other crackpot fantasy.  "Throw her overboard," he sneered, limping up the stairs to his cabin; he needed a drink.  He stopped when his door opened, a sniggering thin man emerging from the room, his eye rolling frantically in its socket.

            "What is it, Ragetti?" he demanded.

            "It's Jack, Cap'n."  Barbossa's eyes widened.   He turned to Bo'sun, who was holding the woman out over the sea, ready to drop her.

            "HOLD IT!" he screamed.  The colored man and a good portion of his crew looked disappointed as the woman was brought back against Bo'sun's chest.  "What do yeh mean, 'it's Jack'?" he said, voice shaking slightly.  Ragetti pulled out from behind him a limp monkey.

            "He was found next to a puddle a rum, sir."  Barbossa took the unconscious animal into his hands.  "He's not dead, just...drunk."  The tall man clasped his mouth shut to keep from bursting out in laughter.  The captain looked up to him—eyes on fire—and shoved him backwards before turning and running down the steps over to Bo'sun.

            "Wake her up," he demanded.  Bo'sun stood still.  "Wake 'er up, Goddamnit!" he screamed, shaking the woman frantically with his free hand.  She remained silent.  "Ah Christ," he sighed.  "Never mind.  Jus' get her outta my sight!"  He stepped away as Bo'sun leaned over the rail.  Cradling Jack in his arms, he watched as his crewmember adjusted himself to get a firm grip on the deck before letting go.  

Then he took a step forward, with mouth slightly open, as he registered a moan coming from the woman.

            "Sir?" Bo'sun asked, as the groans continued.  "Captain?"  Barbossa shook his head and straightened himself.

            "Do it," he said quietly.

The instant Bo'sun let go the woman opened her eyes.  Her drunkenness didn't slow her reflexes—she managed to grab hold of the nearest rope before plummeting into the ocean.  Barbossa's entire crew took a step forward, watching the woman as she struggled to fling herself back on board.  Once she managed the feat, she fell to the boards, turning on her back.  A shadow soon fell over her, and she sprang to her feet, backing away from the encircling pirates.  

Everything was a blur to her—shapes and colors invaded her eyes, distorting her senses.  Where was she?  What was going on?

Barbossa watched from behind his men, his hand lovingly stroking his pet monkey.  He watched the woman stumble aboard the deck of his ship, watched her pull a dagger from her uninjured calf, and watched as she lunged at the nearest crewmember, only to be pushed back into play.

He also watched as she stumbled backward, over the railing, and into Davy Jones' Locker.

The first row of onlookers rushed to the starboard side, witness to the splash below.  Barbossa snorted.

            "Bring 'er up, gents," he said with a sudden cheerfulness in his voice.  His crew turned to stare curiously at him.  Bo'sun rolled his eyes and walked slowly toward him.

            "Isn't that what you were after, Captain?" he asked quietly as several of the crew threw off their affects and clothing and jumped in after the drowning woman.

            "Yes, originally," Barbossa answered, still stroking Jack, "but she was feisty, wouldn' yeh say?"  Bo'sun grunted.  "Come man, look at 'em," he said, motioning toward the onslaught of willing rescuers dotting the waters below them.  "They certainly wouldn't object teh havin' a woman aboard."  He laughed.

            "Havin' a woman aboard is bad luck, Captain," Bo'sun argued.  The Captain's smiled faded and he whirled around.

            "Are yeh questioning me orders, mate?" he asked menacingly, his free hand reaching for his pistol.

            "No, sir," the colored man quickly replied.

            "Good."  Barbossa's smile returned as three of his men climbed back onto The Black Pearl, a drenched, intriguing woman in their arms.

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Please review.


	3. North's Chest

Note:  Thanks to all my reviewers.  I appreciate each and every one of you.  

This chapter is dedicated to Layla, who so patiently helped me along while I ripped out chunks of my hair and produced several welts on my head, attempting to create the name of my character and ship.  Thanks, mate.

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 3

            "Shh...there yeh are, love.  Rest yer weary head."  

The voice registered as gentle and sincere.  The woman was slowly aware of the swimming of her head, the heightened pitch of the noises around her—the wringing out of a cloth, the screech of a gull...

She sprung from her position, knocking a dampened rag and hand out of her way.  The dry hand grasped her shoulder as she sank her head between her knees—covered by blood red sheets—and groaned against the pounding in her temples.  The low voice that had first spoken to her now laughed.

            "Had quite a night, eh?" it asked, forcing her back onto her pillow.  As she lay back, the memory of the previous night invaded her mind.  She looked up into the man's face, looming over her, patting her forehead with the soaked cloth.  Moaning once more, she closed her eyes.

When she awoke again, the sheets were tightly wrapped around her body; she hadn't had a peaceful sleep.  As her vision focused, she noticed the captain of the _Black Pearl_ himself sitting across from her at his desk, scribbling on a map.  She turned over and stretched her aching body.

            "Ah...'bout time yeh woke," came Barbossa's voice as he set down his quill.  It was the same voice that had soothed her when she first woke.  The woman's eyes widened a bit; this captain, this _pirate_, had helped her...had seemed _concerned_ about her.

Slowly lifting herself from the mattress, she swung her legs over the side and watched the captain as he continued his work.  Her lids felt heavy against her eyes, her head even heavier on her neck.  God, she had gotten so drunk.  It was only right that she had a hangover that was just as bad—perhaps even worse—to match.

The silence in the room was only broken by the scratching of a quill against parchment.  The woman looked around the cabin as Barbossa worked.  Her eyes stopped on a motionless primate lying in a heap of fabric in the corner of the room.

            "What happened to him?" she asked.  The scratching stopped as Barbossa raised his head.  The woman heard the scrape of chair against wood as the captain stood up and walked toward her, his arms folded across his chest.

            "That's what I'd like teh know," he said sternly.  "Among other things."  He walked passed the bed and over to his monkey, feeling his forehead.  Then he went over to his dresser, taking hold of an empty bottle of rum and jiggling it at the woman.  "Seems he 'ad a taste of the bubbly last night after you so clumsily sprawled yerself on me cabin floor."  The woman looked down to the edge of the bed where she had fallen, then her hand flew to her head and the bump she had received after hitting it—the pain flowing back along with the memory.

            "He tripped me," she said quietly.  Barbossa snorted.

            "I highly doubt that this here little thing manage teh stick his tiny leg out and cause yeh teh fall—"

            "I tripped over him," the woman corrected.  "The bottle fell out of my hands."  She massaged her temples, attempting to rub the throbbing away.  "I'm sorry if curiosity got the best of him.  I would have stopped him, had I been conscious."

            "Yes, well..."  The captain threw the bottle out of the window and walked back toward the bed, stopping in front of her and placing his hands on the mattress next to her thighs.  "No harm done, Miss...?"  The woman's head snapped up to meet his blue eyes; her own darted back and forth in their sockets.

            "West."  Barbossa narrowed his gaze, attempting to pierce her mind to discover if she was telling the truth or not.

            "Right, Miss West."  He straightened up and walked back toward his desk.  "Tis a good thing he's still alive," he said, "otherwise I wouldn' have been so kind as teh take yeh back from Davy Jones this mornin'."

            "And I am eternally grateful for that," the woman quickly replied.  Barbossa turned to her and crossed his arms.

            "Though I wonder...how is it that a thing such as yerself find her way aboard a ship such as the _Pearl_?"  He walked slowly toward her as he spoke.  "And why?"  Miss West avoided his penetrating gaze by looking down, ignoring the strands of dark brown hair that invaded her eyes.

            "I was escaping," she began.

            "Oh?  From who?"

            "A band of pirates, of course."  She ignored the captain's grunt.  "I can't remember the captain's name, or the name of the ship; I wasn't their prisoner for very long."

            "How'd yeh end up at Tortuga?" he asked, moving ever closer to her.

            "I stole a boat and found myself rowing toward the nearest port."  She stopped as a finger lifted her chin.  The captain looked into her turbid brown eyes.

            "I remember you," he said quietly.  "Yer that lass from the bar—the one that was talkin' teh Maria..."  Miss West nodded.

            "She was listening to my story...she offered to help me," she said quickly.  "But then you and your men entered.  I heard you talking about the _Black Pearl_ being anchored out in the bay—"

            "So yeh escaped one band of pirates teh take up with another one, did yeh?" the captain asked, scratching his chin.  Miss West lowered her head; it didn't seem to make sense, did it?  Slowly, ever so lethargically, she pulled herself from the bed and walked over to the window.

The sea was calm: the sun, warm and bright.  The surface of the Caribbean glistened like a million jewels spread out across the water.  Miss West sighed, hugging herself.

            "I don't much care teh be lied to, Miss West," came the captain's voice from behind her.  She turned to look at him.  "Tis somethin' yeh be keepin' from me."  Of course there was...everyone was always keeping something from everyone else, weren't they?  The woman looked back out the window, leaning forward to get a sense of how far above the surface they were.

And then her eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.  

She grabbed hold of the side of the window, her mind not believing what her eyes were showing her.  Below the porthole, floating gracefully passed the _Pearl_...was her trunk.

            "What the—?" the captain asked from behind her, come to see what the commotion was about.  Miss West spun around, nearly knocking Barbossa off his feet.  They stood nose-to-nose.  The woman was out of breath—despite having not done a thing all morning: the man, unable to breath.

            "My chest," she said, not moving.  Barbossa raised a brow and looked down, then moved her to the side to look out for himself.

            "Aye," he said, watching the box rub against the side of his ship.  "Well, we best retrieve it then," he stated, pulling back and making for the door.  The woman took one last look outside; half of her was very glad to see that trunk...but the other half dreaded the sight of it.

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            "Gents, there be somethin' of the lady's down below," Barbossa said to his men on deck.  Miss West followed behind him, ignoring the stares of the crew.  She had handled their kind before—many times before.

As the case was lifted aboard, the woman pondered how it survived—especially with everything that it contained...unless someone found it before her and 'lightened the load'.  She rushed to the box, but was stopped by Bo'sun, by order of the captain.  The latter came up behind her and opened the case himself, not risking the chance of something being in there that may have helped the woman defend herself.

And indeed there was.

Inside laid an assortment of weapons—a pistol, dagger, cutlass, and two well-crafted swords.  Beneath the layer of arms laid a dark, dirt brown jacket, and beneath that—as Barbossa found out when he removed everything—were several pairs of pants, shirts, a pair of boots, and an extravagant fedora-like hat, donning three long feathers.

Barbossa scanned the belongings of Miss West, his eyes narrowing to the point of closure.  Quickly, he approached her and pulled her right sleeve up, looking for the branded 'P' that every pirate wore.  When he didn't find it, Miss West quickly pulled her wrist away and crossed her arms.

            "I don't understand," he muttered, looking back at the scattered items, "these be the belongins' of a pirate."  He looked up into the tanned face of the stowaway, hinting for an answer.

            "Indeed," she replied, moving toward the trunk.  She began replacing everything as she spoke.  "All this belongs to my father."  She paused to gaze at the curious faces around her.  "Captain North."  The great gasps and sharp inhalations of the pirates around her almost made her laugh.

            " 'Steel Water' North?  Of the _Three Fates_?" someone asked from the crowd. 

            "Past, present, and future, mate," the woman said, picking up the last sword and holding it loosely in her hand.  

            "_Three Fates?"_ replied Ragetti, "ain't that the fleet that steals from other pirates, 'stead of the wealthy?"  

            "Pirates _are _some of the wealthiest," answered the woman, looking curiously at the one-eyed man.  "_Fleet_?" she questioned.

            "Well, _Three Fates._  Ain't there three ships?"  Barbossa rolled his eyes as Pintel hit him over the head.  "It don't have teh be three ships to be called the _Three Fates_...yeh fool-born codpiece..." Barbossa stepped toward her, one hand under his chin.

            "I thought yeh said yer name was 'West'...?"  The woman seemed to ignore him, and instead focused on the imaginary sword fight she had landed herself in—hand moving gracefully, cutting the air with her hilted blade.  When the captain cleared his throat, she stopped.

            "I lied," she said simply, throwing the steel back into the trunk and shutting the lid.  "I didn't know how you fared with my father, so I wasn't about to disclose my real name, for fear of my safety," she explained.

            "Why should we be on bad terms with yer father?" Pintel asked from her right.  "He's never come near the _Black Pearl_."

            "Too afraid, I s'pose," Barbossa answered.  Miss North swung around on him, clenching her fists.

            "Do _not_ make assumptions about my father, Captain," she said through gritted teeth.  Barbossa shook his head, muttering "no, never" in a mocking tone and held up his hand in apology.  Then he walked passed Miss North and to the trunk, kicking it, and then instructing two of his men to take the weapons.

            "There's no need for that," the woman said, walking quickly toward them.  The captain disagreed.

            "I can't be lettin' a prisoner of mine keep a pistol an' cutlass nearby, can I?"  The woman stopped in her tracks, paused to think, then walked straight to Barbossa, placing a hand on his chest.

            "Come now, Captain," she soothed, "even if I did know how to use a sword, or fire a shot, I'm sure you and your men could take me down before I knew what hit me."  The men around her laughed.

            "Aye, Miss.  That we could."  He looked from her to the chest.  "Take it up to me cabin, gents...where I can keep an eye on it."  As two men lugged it up the stairs, Barbossa motioned Miss North to follow him back into his rooms.

Once the trunk was settled, and the two of them were left alone, Barbossa took off his hat and lowered himself into his chair.

            "Now, Miss North...care to explain why yeh have a chest full of yer father's things?"  The woman looked away from him and began to twiddle her thumbs.

            "My father passed away."

            "When?  Yesterday?"  He rose from his chair and came so close as to whisper in the young woman's ear.  "For I heard of another ship he plundered jus' last night in the bar."  Miss North shuddered.

            "That ship was his last, I'm afraid," she answered.  "Seems he tangled with the wrong pirates."  Her head remained low as Barbossa circled her.  "His funeral was just a few days ago.  That's when I was kidnapped—vengeful pirates they were, see, and they wanted me as payment for my father's doings."  She kicked the trunk at her feet.  "This is all I have left of him."  Barbossa stopped his circling.

            "What's yer name?"

            "I beg your pardon?"  The captain rolled his eyes.

            "Yer Christian name, lass!"  The woman shifted uncomfortably where she stood.

            "Oh...Elinor," she said hesitantly, not having voiced her first name in a very long time.  The captain made a sound of approval in the back of his throat.  "And yours?" she asked, bringing her head up to meet Barbossa's.

            "Captain," he said after some time.  

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	4. Due

NOTE:  So I'm not exactly sure how pirates bathed back in the early 18th century – this is my take on it.

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 4

            "Very well, _Captain,"_ Elinor spat as she bowed deeply in mock-fashion, keeping her eyes on Barbossa the entire time—while he did the same.  He enjoyed her boldness, sarcasm, and the way her upper lip twitched when she was angry.  

It did that now, as she stood and took a step toward her trunk.  

"Now if you wouldn't mind, _Sir, I would very much like to change out of these rags I am currently wearing."  She didn't wait for his approval, but proceeded toward the chest, opened it, and began shuffling through for a new shirt and pants.  She stood up after she found what she was looking for and furrowed her brows at the captain.  He looked at her curiously, she pointing to the shirt she was wearing and then to the shirt she'd like to put on without having him around to watch her.  He smirked._

            "Might I suggest," he said, moving toward her, "that yeh wash yer...travels...off before yeh put those on."  Elinor was appalled.  Sure she had realized that she was filthy, but the fact that a _pirate_ thought she could use a bath was down right degrading.  Her mouth hung open as the captain put a hand on her shoulder.  "No offense, Missy.  You are indeed in the company of pirates; but we know when our time is due."  He leaned in close to her ear.  "And yers was probably a week ago..."  He sniffed.  "At least."   He laughed as North pushed him away, gathered up her clothes (mumbling/cursing the whole way) and slammed the case shut.

            "Going to throw me a line then, so that after I'm done in the sea I can be dragged aboard this vociferous vessel once more?" she said, tapping her foot.

            "A line?  Nonsense!  There's no need teh be throwin' yeh back out to the fishes."  His voice faded as he opened the door to his washroom and motioned for her to follow him.  

What met Elinor's eyes made her gasp.

            "How is this possible?" she asked, her eyes roaming over the exquisite porcelain tub that occupied a corner of the room.

            "The miracle that is _pipes_, my dear," he answered, pulling her to the back of the washtub.  There lay a series of metal tubing connecting the basin with what she assumed was the ocean beneath.  "Just turn this handle...and there!  Fresh water straight from the Caribbean herself!  Ran through a few filters, o' course.  Wouldn' want teh bath in a lake of salt right after a battle, eh?"  He laughed again while Elinor ran her hand through the water, flinching at its less-than-comfortable temperature.

            "Filters?"

            "Small squares of metal netting—traps a decent amount of the salt," he answered while tightening one of the pipes.  When he finished he stood up and headed toward the door, nodding to Elinor as he passed.  She had to smile to herself; here was a ruthless pirate captain who had made sure he was able to bath in the privacy of his own chambers.

            "Thank you," she said softly as he passed through the doorway.  Barbossa didn't reply, quickly closing the door instead.

The bar of soap she used was coarse enough to break through the layer of dirt caking her skin.  How she had let herself get so grimy was beyond her; she hardly even remembered any of the events leading up to her arrival aboard the _Black Pearl_.  

Elinor shook her head and cursed herself—her lack of memories, she knew, was due to the alcohol.

After scrubbing herself to the point of turning the water around her a dirt brown, she laid her head back against the rim of the tub and closed her eyes.  The water was getting colder now that it had been sitting for a while, but she either didn't care or didn't notice.

Just as she didn't notice the door to the room creep slowly open.

She did, however, take heed of the scratching of nails against porcelain.  The woman opened her eyes just as Barbossa's small monkey fell into the tub along with her.  She screamed, fishing for the primate, sloshing mud brown water onto the floor.  Her racket naturally called the captain to her attention.

Slipping through the door, Barbossa came upon an unusual sight—a now very clean, very naked, young woman frantically searching her bath water for something unknown to him.  Her eyes were on fire as her arms flailed about the tub.  She had moved toward the end of the basin, and behind her came the answer to the captain's curiosity.

His laughed snapped Elinor to attention.  Barbossa had tears in his eyes.

            "Ah Jack," he sighed, moving toward the tub.  The monkey had resurfaced behind Elinor, looking frightful.  Barbossa lowered his hand to allow the primate to grab hold of it and escape.  When he did, the man took a towel from a chair and rubbed Jack dry.  While he did this, Elinor slowly lowered herself beneath the muddy waters, so as not to let the captain take a leisurely view at her exposed body.  When he was done, he dropped Jack to the floor, pushing him out the door.  Then he hung the towel over the window ledge and took a seat upon the chair adjacent from the tub.

Elinor's eyes widened, and subconsciously she crossed her arms over her chest—even though they were safe beneath the water.

Barbossa also crossed his arms, leaning back into the chair to observe the new woman before him—well built indeed, with enough curves and muscles to please any man.  Now that she had cleansed her skin of the dirt, he noticed plenty of scars dotted over her shoulders, collarbone, and face.  One in particular caught his attention; the one above her left breast that was not a slash of a blade, but represented a wave—like the sign for the zodiac Aquarius.

As he stared, Elinor's lip began to twitch.

            "You're still here."

            "I am," he stated matter-of-factly.  North moved to the left side of the bathtub, crossing her arms over the rim and pressing herself against the porcelain to keep herself as hidden as possible.

            "Why?"  Barbossa leaned slowly forward.  In the small room the chair was put close to the tub, so as he bent forward their noses nearly touched.        

            "Wouldn't want ol' Jack teh be sneakin' back in, would yeh?"  The woman leaned back, reaching for the soap once again.

            "No," she said truthfully.  Then, as she lifted her right leg out of the water and began to scrub it with the bar of soap, she stated sarcastically, "thank you for your _concern_, Captain.  I'm sure sitting just outside of the door wouldn't at all keep Jack from entering."  She heard Barbossa snort.

Elinor continued cleaning her already-cleansed legs, in hopes that the captain would grow tired of seeing just her limbs.  When it seemed he would never leave, she decided to speak.

            "So how long have you known Maria?"  Barbossa blinked, then readjusted himself.

            "Few years."  Elinor raised her left arm to wipe the soap duds from her legs.  Barbossa cocked his head at the sight of a leather band wrapped around her wrist.  He wondered why she hadn't taken that off when a splash of water hit his face.

            "Are you listening to me?" she asked, even though it was obvious he wasn't.  Barbossa calmly wiped the water from his cheek, even though his patience was at a point where he could have strangled her.

            "Forgive me if I seem...distracted," he said, the glint in his eyes frightening the woman.

            "I asked you to hand me a towel."  The man took a cloth from a pile below him, then proceeded to stand at the side of the washtub, opening the towel and waiting for Elinor to stand up.

            "Don't even—" she threatened, attempting to pull the towel away.  Barbossa held fast, smiling maliciously at her—especially as she gathered herself up, mumbling "sick bastard" as she stood.  He laughed.

            "Yeh be forgettin' whose company yer in," he said as he wrapped the cloth around her body, lingering for longer than he probably should have.

            "And whose is that?" she inquired, tearing herself away from him.

            "The company of a pirate," he said, taking one more look up and down her body before exiting.  Elinor watched to make sure he was gone—out on the bridge—before closing the door and pulling on her clothes.  No matter how clean her skin was she still felt unclean—violated.

When she drained the tub and hung out her towel to dry she re-entered the main room.  There behind his desk sat Barbossa, scribbling notes in his usual fashion.  Elinor pulled her sleeves down and threw her rags into the chest, pulling out the dark brown jacket.

            "Those clothes fit yeh awfully well, fer bein' yer father's," came a curious voice from behind her.  Elinor rolled her eyes as she pulled the coat on.

            "My father was short...and trim," she said, turning to face the captain—who had set down his quill and moved to the bed.  He crossed his arms and raised a brow at her.  Elinor folded the collar down violently before rushing toward him.  "Fine.  I'm a pirate, Barbossa. Is that what you want to hear?  I'm a pirate, just like you.  I pillage and plunder...for Christ's sake!"  She sat next to him on the mattress, nostrils flaring.  Barbossa remained silent, still waiting for the truth.  Elinor noticed his look.

            "What?  You don't believe me?"  He shook his head, pulling his pistol from his belt and fondling it in his hands.

            "Yer not a pirate, because yeh talk like those elite British bastards that occupy Port Royale."  He placed the gun under her chin.  "But yer not one of those, either."  His unspoken threat was obvious.

            "My mother died giving birth to me," North started without being told.  Barbossa lowered his weapon.  "I had no where else to go but with my father...aboard the _Three Fates_.  I lived with him on that ship up until the day he died.  I never took part in his activities; he wouldn't let me.  He protected me from becoming just like him...just like a pirate.  But I learned about sailing, among other things.  I know how to use those weapons in my trunk, the only things of worth my father left me...his sword, cutlass, daggers—" she stopped upon hearing a "Hmm..." from the captain.

            "So yeh lived on a pirate ship for..."

            "Twenty-six years."

            "For twenty-six years.  But yer not a pirate."  

            "If I was, you would have found the mark you were looking for earlier," she said as she reached for his right hand and pulled up his sleeve.  "This mark."  Barbossa looked down at the small 'P' that was branded atop his wrist so many years ago.

            "And after yer father died?" he asked, pulling his arm away and lowering his sleeve.

            "I went to the funeral, naturally.  That's where I was kidnapped; the rogues crashed the service, taking whatever they could lay their grubby hands on...including me.  I was supposed to serve as restitution for what my father took of theirs.  They couldn't kill my father, so they had to settle for the next best thing...his kin."

            "Seems appropriate," muttered Barbossa.  "And the _Three Fates_?  What happened teh her?"

            "My father left it to his first mate.  I haven't seen it since the day of that battle."  Elinor raised her head and gazed out the window.  "I'm here because I am at home with pirates...no matter how insane that seems.  I am here because I want her back.  That ship should stay in the family."  She stood up and unbuttoned the cuffs of her jacket.  "The _Fates_ is my past, present, and future, Captain.  She's a magnificent galleon, worthy of only those that bare the name 'North'.  I mean to take her back."

            "And how precisely were yeh plannin' on doin' that?  Don't think that the _Pearl_ has her own plans...we can't go gallivantin' across the Caribbean lookin' for a ship we've never seen, for a price that doesn't exist."

            "Naturally," Elinor stated, her eyes glassy in their sockets.  "She'd be worth your time, Barbossa.  Trust me on that."  She turned to meet the captain's chest.  "All I ask is that if we see her, you'll help me take her."  

A breeze floated through the open window, pushing a strand of dark brown hair across the tanned face of Elinor North.  Barbossa moved the hair behind her ear, tracing her jaw with his finger afterward.

            "I'm not making any promises I'm likely to break," he said sternly, his fingers lingering on her cheek.  Elinor nodded, pulling away from him.  The captain picked up his pistol from the bed and replaced it before heading toward the door.

            "I do have one question for you, Captain."  The sound of her voice stopped him.  He turned to see her with her arms folded across her chest.  She looked so comfortable in the 'pirate garb'.  

            "What's that?"  North walked slowly toward him.

            "If I recall, wasn't the _Pearl_ first registered to a man by the name of Jack Sparrow?"

The sting from Barbossa's hand sent her flying to the floor.  She grabbed her cheek as tears sprouted in her eyes.

            "Don't you _ever mention that name again aboard __my ship," he threatened, pointing at her with narrowed eyes.  Elinor shouldn't have been surprised to get hit—he was, after all, a pirate, and this sort of behavior was common among thieving men—but she had almost believed he was different.  Her lip twitched as she pulled herself from the floor.  She would not let herself become weak in the eyes of this man._

            "You mutinous bastard," she hissed through clenched teeth.  She screamed and cursed at the captain as he slammed the door shut on her.  Elinor's anger subsided only when the throbbing of her cheek did...only when she found a bottle of rum, hidden inside a small compartment behind the captain's desk.

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	5. All Eyes

 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1So sorry it's been so long, guys.  I've been writing this chapter for a while now, trying to get a few sentences in here and there while I get myself situated in COLLEGE.  BAH!  I've been really busy, but I haven't forgotten about this story.  I hope you enjoy this chapter.  Thanks for all the reviews.

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 5

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            "Ah, for Christ's sake..."

The door to the captain's cabin swung open two hours after it had shut on the youthful face of Elinor North.  That face now hung over the side of the large bed occupying the area, eyes swollen shut, hair mangled and lips bright red from the pressure of mouth to bottle opening.  And dangling from the woman's right hand was yet another bottle of Barbossa's finest rum.  

The captain sighed as he approached the bed.  Taking her limp left arm that hovered over the rug-covered boards, he flipped Elinor off the mattress and onto the floor.  A loud thump was heard, as were a string of slurred curses and the pounding of a fist upon the cabin base.  Barbossa limped over to the opposite side of the bed, his nostrils flaring and face set hard as stone.  North was struggling to pull herself from the floor when the captain's boots came into her view.  She had just enough time to look into his icy cold eyes before a pair of calloused hands–his hands–grabbed her under the arms, hoisted her clear off the ground and threw her into the drinking cabinet.  

Despite a busted lip and countless sore muscles, North let out another series of inexplicables and pushed herself up as the bottles in the cabinet settled.  Barbossa leaned over, took hold of a handful of brown hair, and jerked the woman's head up as he knelt down beside her.  Tearing the bottle from her hands, he dangled it in front of her glazed eyes and hissed,

            "If I ever catch yeh with a bottle of me rum in yer unworthy hands again...I'll kill yeh...simple as that."

After slamming her head back into the cabinet, he turned and threw the half-empty bottle out the window and into the sea.

            "What good is a cabinet full of rum if it's not for drinking?" asked a soft voice from behind him.  Barbossa turned to see North standing fully erect, fists clenched as she swayed from side to side.  Whether her drunken movements were really from the alcohol or if they were from her beating, the captain could have cared less.  Pulling his pistol out, he aimed it at the spot between the two brown eyes of North, which slowly moved toward him.

            "I should've let you drown," he whispered.  Elinor stopped.

            "But you didn't," she stated, eyes lighting up in mock fashion.

            "Which I often wonder why..." the captain mumbled as he lowered his side arm.  The woman in front of him stepped up to meet his nose.

            "Because I intrigued you, remember?" she said, running her hand over the lapels of his jacket.  "I am a challenge."  She gazed longingly into his steel eyes as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

            "Indeed," he replied in a low growl.  His finger traced her jaw line, then up to her split eyebrow.  Elinor flinched when he touched the injuries he himself had inflicted.  When he reached her cut lip she stepped away and fell onto the mattress.

            "If you don't want me drinking your rum, you best not keep me locked up in here as you do now."  Barbossa folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at her.  "Alcohol is my ambrosia, Captain.  It allows me to forget all my troubles—"

            "As it does with all of us," he said quickly.  "But if yeh want a drink," he started as he walked toward her, "_ask fer it."  North shook her head._

            "That isn't my point.  I _need to get out of here.  There's nothing to _do._  Out on deck I could be useful—"_

            "You could be useful in the bedroom, too," Barbossa replied, that hungry look invading his eyes.  There was a moment's pause before North retrieved her knife and lifted it in an attempt to stab the captain.  Barbossa was quick to react, and the two proceeded to wrestle on the bed, with the captain easily overtaking Elinor.  He pinned her arms over her head and straddled her waist.  Both were breathing heavy.

            "Don't rape me," the woman pleaded quietly.  Barbossa was taken back by her request, but showed it only a moment.  Quickly he twisted North's left wrist and her dagger fell from her hand.  

            "Yer lucky I already had me fill of Maria," he said, letting her arms go and pocketing her weapon, "otherwise yer plea would be in vain."  He lifted himself from the woman, who sat up in the bed and bore into his eyes with a fire unlike any he had ever seen.

            "Why do you insist on keeping me in here?  I present no harm to you, your crew, or your ship.  I cannot escape, because I don't know where I am—nor would I know where to go..."  She looked down at her wrists, gently rubbing the pain away.  

When her eyes were off of him, Barbossa grabbed her by the arm and pulled her over to the door.  It crashed open, allowing extreme sunlight into the area.  Elinor squinted into the light as he pushed her outside.  He kept a tight hold on her as they stopped, and as her eyes adjusted to the harsh sun, she noticed several of the crew curiously stepping up to them.  

They looked malicious, dirty...hungry.

A few attempted to tame their wild hair: others licked their lips.  Elinor stood fast as they surrounded her and the captain.  She flinched, however, when he whispered into her ear.

            "_They are the reason I keep yeh to meself.  Unlike me, their hunger for a woman's touch is ne'er satisfied," he said as he traced a finger down the front of her shirt, all eyes of the crew watching him.  _

            "You seriously underestimate my capabilities if you think I can't handle your motley crew," the woman hissed back.  Barbossa snorted as he let go of her.  A few of the men took a step forward; the silence was deafening.  Elinor scanned the crowd, winking at one extremely filthy mate with a toothless grin.  He clenched and unclenched his fists as the captain grabbed North's hand and placed his pistol in it.

            "Let's see yeh handle 'em, then, Missy," he said in response to her curious glare.  "Shoot one of them."  The woman smiled as the crew straightened.  Turning to the man she winked at, she quickly shot him in the foot.  He howled and hopped—cursing her and his captain—until he fell backward over the railing and onto the deck below.  His howls could still be heard as Elinor tossed the gun back to Barbossa, who looked furious.

            "Yeh were supposed to _kill_ him," he hissed.  North shook her head.

            "You said 'shoot one of them', not kill," she said as she brushed passed him.  He waved off his mates and they dispersed, continuing with their work aboard the _Black Pearl_.  "You should be more specific next time."  She came to rest against the starboard railing, running her hands over the coarse wood of the _Pearl.  Behind her she could hear the captain mumbling as he stuffed his weapon back into its holster.  The sound of his steps turned Elinor around.  She kicked her legs up to meet his chest—not to push him away, but just to keep him from coming any further._

            "I'll not go back in there, Barbossa."  The captain looked from her boots to her eyes.

            "Take yer boots off me chest," he threatened.  The woman obliged, folding her arms and waiting for his decision.

            "Think about your rum," she said as he thought.  The captain gave a hint of a smile as he straightened his coat.

            "Fine," he finally said, moving toward her and lifting a string of hair, "but if one strand of this beautiful brown hair steps out of line—"

            "I know, I know," she said, pushing his hand away.  Barbossa grinned as he stepped back.  "My dagger?" she inquired, holding out her palm.

            "Oh no," he replied, patting the pocket that held her weapon.  Eleanor's face contorted as she lowered her hand.

            "How am I supposed to defend myself against these ruffians, then?"  Barbossa shrugged.

            "Improvise," he said, turning on his heal and marching back into his cabin. 

Elinor North stood on the bridge, hands at her side, mouth hanging open, mind racing.  Below her, the man with the hole in his foot was still recovering, his mates not really bothering to help him.  They were more interested in the defenseless woman who stood outside the captain's quarters.

            "Cap'n's givin' yeh up teh us now, is he?" observed Ragetti as he and his fellow crewmembers dropped what they were doing.  Elinor froze, but her eyes darted in their sockets, looking for a weapon.  Ragetti was on the top step of the bridge by the time she found it.

            "Back off, you craven one-eyed maggot pie," the woman yelled as she swung a wet mop from its bucket and into Ragetti's face.  Taken so back by the sudden action, the man lost his balance and followed in the steps (or lack thereof) of the pirate previously shot in the foot by North—over the railing and onto the forward deck.  His mates froze.

            "And that was just a _mop_, gents," Elinor threatened as she moved down the stairs, sweeping her weapon from side to side, keeping an eye on the crew.  She swung it round and round, until a voice startled her and cemented her to her spot.

            "Get back teh work, yeh dismal-dreamin' miscreants!" came an impatient voice from the bridge.  Barbossa had returned—with a sober monkey and a banana.  As soon as he saw that no one was working, he commanded them to return to their posts and threw the rest of his fruit into the crowd.  Immediately every man aboard went back to work, leaving North to lower her mop and wonder what to do with herself.  

Her question was answered when a hand came from behind her and roughly stole her weapon.  Turning swiftly, she saw a tanned-skinned sailor, tall and dark-haired, with deep brown eyes and a strong jaw line.

            "I beg your complete pardon, sir," she demanded sternly, placing her hands on her hips.  The man ignored her at first, continuing to wash the deck.

            "You'd better make yerself useful," he warned after some time, pointing to a rope that needed to be gathered up.  Elinor sighed and went to work while the tall man stuck close by her.

            "Where are we headed?" she asked as she finished with the cord.  The man stopped wiping down the boards and rested his hands on the handle of the mop.

            "Teh do what we pirates do best, o' course."  Elinor raised an eyebrow.  Her comrade sighed.  "Find us some buried treasure, lass."  North rolled her eyes before asking the sailor's name.  The tall man moved toward her and extended his hand.  "William Turner."  She took his palm in hers, keeping her eyes on his.  He coughed.  "Or Bootstrap Bill…yes, Bootstrap to most."

            "Well, William.  It is refreshing to meet a real gentleman aboard this God-forsaken ship."  Bootstrap winked, returning to his duties.  Elinor followed his back, smiling to herself, until another line caught her eye.

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            "Elinor!"

Several pairs of eyes followed the source of the call to its destination.  The said woman was bent over, positioning several ropes in a way so as they wouldn't trip any of the crew—or maybe in one that they would.

            "_Elinor!"_ came the call again.  And again, the woman did not answer.  Noticing the captain's red face, William moved slowly toward North, stopping a few feet away.

            "Captain North," he whispered.  Immediately Elinor's head snapped up.  The man pointed toward the upper deck where Barbossa stood with his arms folded across his chest.  When the woman met his glare, he stuck his neck out and opened his eyes wide, demanding silently why she hadn't answered his previous calls.  

As Elinor realized how William had referred to her, she turned swiftly on him, her mouth gaping and her eyes on fire.

From above, the captain cleared his throat.  North mouthed to Bootstrap Bill, informing him that they needed to talk.  Barbossa stood still as she walked up the steps and stood beside him.  His gaze was not fixed on her, however, and as Elinor followed his line of sight, she gasped.

            "My sentiments exactly, lass."  

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	6. Many Steps

NOTE:  Well, here's chapter six.  Sorry for the delay, you know how college can get (and if you don't…you will).  

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 6

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            "Feast yer eyes on the Island of the Dead."

Elinor did not blink for a moment longer than most.  What lay before her was one of the most beautiful and exotic pieces of land she had ever seen.

            "It's…amazing." 

Next to her, the captain "mm hmm"-ed in agreement.  He had waited years for this moment—ever since he and the crew had first learned of the treasure.  Elinor blinked, turning to meet his glazed, dilated, and bloodshot eyes.  Out of his peripheral vision, Barbossa saw her strong jaw rotate toward him.  Quickly he cleared his throat and blinked back his hunger, his anticipation.  He clenched his fists; they couldn't reach that island fast enough for him.  And yet he had been waiting for so long…what were a few more leagues?

            "What on this isle calls to you?"  Barbossa looked at the woman next to him—a woman who now seemed almost child-like in her curiosity, in her naivety.

            "My retirement," he answered nonchalantly.  North smiled beside him.

            "I might believe you if I didn't know who or what you were, Captain.  But since I do…why don't you tell me what treasure awaits you on this island?"  Barbossa took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  Elinor saw his shoulders fall, his posture relax.  Despite his overall appearance, she caught that child-like excitement that sparkled in his icy eyes as he opened them and gazed out over the Caribbean.

            "Aztec gold."  He didn't see it, but her silence told him she was certainly surprised.

            "The cursed chest of Cortez?" she asked as if out of breath.  Barbossa snorted. 

            "So they say…"  Elinor looked back to the island—at once it turned from a beautiful sight to an ominous one.  The trees swayed back and forth with the wind in their own tribal dance.  The once cloudless sky was slowly beginning to fill with large cumulous clouds with white tops and ever-darkening bottoms.  The waves crashed against the cliffs to the east of the island as the sun disappeared behind the billows.

Elinor shivered.

            "You can't be serious," she hissed, turning toward the captain.  He looked down at her; his lips pressed tightly together, his brows furrowed deep over his eyes.  

And then he smiled.  A horrible, evil grin that exposed his unpleasant teeth.  As soon as North's gaze shifted to his darkened incisors, he snapped his head around and addressed his crew.

            "Drop anchor, gents!  And make ready the longboats!"  Elinor stepped back from the captain, her heart fluttering.  She was fixing to make a break for it—escape to his quarters, to the brig…anywhere but to be dragged to that forbidden isle.  When her feet responded, Barbossa took hold of her wrist with lightning quick reaction.

            "I'll not be going ashore!" she shouted, trying to break free.  The man just smiled, pulling her close to him.  Elinor was shaking now, not understanding why this pirate was not as superstitious as most, why he was risking the life of his crew and himself for something that supposedly didn't even exist.

            "Oh, yeh most definitely _will_ be accompanyin' us, meh dear," he threatened against her ear.  North bit her lip as she was thrown to Ragetti, who dragged her to one of the boats and threw her in.  She cowered in the front of the vessel like a scared canine, or a child watching her parents fight, as if she was sure there was a monster after her.

He stepped in behind her, standing over her as the boat was lowered into the cool, dark waters of the ocean.

Elinor sank deeper into the fetal position as they rowed toward the only stretch of sand worth beaching on.  She could feel his presence behind her, his eyes upon her.  Their boat was ahead of the rest, leading a regiment into battle, or the first of a long funeral procession.  

When they were settled onto land, North wrapped her arms around her knees and cursed everything in sight, refusing to remove herself from the boat.  Barbossa had a different plan in mind, however, as he grabbed her arm and hoisted her clear out of the craft.  Elinor stumbled around the beach, still attached to the captain but trying desperately to get away.  After a hard slap, however, she gave up her fight, stunned and defeated.

            "You bastard," she cursed, holding her stinging cheek, "do you hit Maria like that?"  Barbossa stopped and raised his hand again, but thought better of following through.  Instead he glowered at the woman and pointed a finger at her.

            "Watch it, North."

            "Why?  We're all just going to DIE ANYWAY!" she shouted so the whole crew could hear.  They all looked at her curiously as the captain uncovered his pistol and rested it against her temple.

            "I'm warning you, lass."

_As if that wasn't obvious,_ she wanted to say, but knew that she would be without her life if she did.  Instead she bit her tongue to keep from retorting, and once her silence had gone on long enough to mollify the captain's rancor, he released her body—but not her wrist—from his grasp.   

            "Murtogg!  Get yer sorry ass over hear…and bring that compass with yeh!"  Murtogg was a tall dark man, with horrible long hair and an even worse set of teeth.  He sulked over to the captain, glaring at Elinor while pulling out a small compass.

            "Which way, sir?" he growled.

            "Northwest.  We need to hit the center of the island in order teh find the temple."

            "Aye, that way then," Murtogg replied, motioning for the rest of the crew to follow.

No shovels or pick axes—no buried treasure.  Not even a map to go by.  The only things the crew carried were two twelve-foot long wooden boards and a few chains.  Not to mention every weapon they could fit inside their pants.

The trees seemed to close in around them as they entered the jungle, as it seemed. Elinor stumbled over rocks and tree roots as Barbossa dragged her deeper into the center of the island.

            "What's our headin'?" he shouted over his shoulder ten minutes later as the wind crashed through the trees.  North felt a drop of rain.

            "Still northwest, sir.  We should be comin' up on her soon enough," Murtogg yelled back.

A few steps further and Barbossa had to draw his sword to cut a path for them through the foliage.  Elinor looked up to catch a glimpse of lightning shoot over the tops of the trees.  She then tripped over a large root and fell into the unmoving captain.

            "Watch yer step," he said, pushing her away from him.  He spoke with a cautionary tone, rather than a menacing one, like a father taking his children out for a picnic in the woods on his day off.  She looked at him curiously as he trudged on, slashing his way through the mess of plant life.  Every ten minutes or so he would re-affirm their position.  It seemed almost an hour when North dodged a large branch and Barbossa lacerated the last bit of remaining forest.  As he did, a mountain appeared before them.  Elinor gasped as they stepped into the clearing; it wasn't a mountain.

It was a temple.

            "Saints preserve us," she whispered as the rest of the _Pearl's_ crew filed in behind her and the captain.  Before them stood an elaborate temple adorned with the writings and pictures of the Aztecs—pictures of war, conquest, and death, and writings sure to be words of warning.  There was an opening at the center of the bottom of the pyramid, and inside the first of at least two hundred steps could be seen.

But this was not a temple erected by the Aztec peoples.

            "It's a sham, sir.  Built by the Spanish to house the treasure."

            "And teh ridicule the people of Mexico," he said harshly.  "Fools."  The crew threw him questioning looks.  "Draw yer weapons, mates.  And watch yer heads."

The phony temple—with it's ladder on the inside rather than out—held nothing but those steps and a small platform at the very top: a platform that held a large chest.  Lightning lit up the trunk through a square hole at the top of the pyramid.  When the pirates caught sight of it, they started to get anxious.  Two gangly-looking men bolted up the steps, ignoring the shouts of Barbossa to stay where they were.  He let go of North, who folded her arms across her chest and watched the men, one a few steps of the other.

            "It's no use, Captain," came a voice from the crowd who then stood fixated on the men.  Barbossa squinted, watching them carefully.  As the man in the lead reached the seventh step from the top, a spear flew out of the east wall.  Every member of the crew leaned forward as the weapon struck the man just above his navel with such a force as to carry him clear off the path and into the opposite wall, tearing completely through him before disappearing through a hole in the stone.

            "Idiot," Elinor said loudly as the man fell hard into the ground, breaking every bone in his body.  Barbossa was too busy concentrating on the dead man's companion to notice her remark.  The pirate stood frozen as he wet his trousers, his pant leg darkening with every sharp breath he took.  The woman stifled a laugh.

The silence was deafening as they waited for his next move.  No one knew if the spear would emerge again, though they believed it was possible—nor did they know if that was the only path it took.  The frightened pirate took a step down, his body shaking uncontrollably as lightning lit up the area again.  The clash of thunder that followed terrified the man so much that he fell forward, his foot lightly grazing the step below him before another spear shot out of the wall and tore through his neck, decapitating him as he fell back down to the crew's feet.

Barbossa held out a foot to stop his rolling head.

A few of the men turned away to hold onto the contents of their stomachs.  Elinor stepped forward, scrutinizing the man's wide eyes and gaping mouth.

            "Poor chap," she said light-heartedly.  "Well, what are we waiting for?  Let's get your treasure, Captain."  Barbossa acted quick, throwing her into three of his crewmembers who held her tight.

            "Outside!  Take the largest stones yeh women can carry."  The pirates filed out into the storm and within a span of ten minutes were back, each holding on to his stone, each with a worried look upon their faces.  They looked to their captain, awaiting orders.

            "Well, up the steps yeh blunderin' idiots!"

            "But sir, how will rocks protect us?" came the question on everyone's mind.  Barbossa rolled his eyes.

            "Use it as a shield," he said slowly, as if teaching them the correct way to butter bread, or set the table.  When they didn't move, he pulled out his pistol and fired a shot into the ceiling.  The men jumped and walked tentatively to the base of the stairway.

            "To heaven, gents," Barbossa soothed.  "Yeh'll be fine, just fine."  Obviously he was skeptical about the whole idea, he himself staying behind along with the three men who held Elinor and a few other cowards.

            "What do yeh think?" asked a voice into the woman's ear.  She looked over her shoulder and saw Bootstrap Bill holding onto her arm.  Turning back, she smiled.

            "I think this is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas," she answered.  

            "I agree," he whispered back.  Both looked to the captain, who had his arms folded and his eyes upon the crew.  When the first man reached the seventh step from the top, the release of air was heard a split second before another spear was released.  He was not quick enough, and so suffered the same fate as his fellow men.

            "Listen fer the air!  The AIR!" Barbossa shouted.  Another step, and another shot of air.  This time the leaders held their stones against their chests, bracing themselves for impact.  One did not hold fast, and fell backward and down to the earth.  The remaining few jumped to the next step to allow those behind to follow before the release of another weapon.  This process continued until the first five reached the top.  No spears were hurled there.  They shouted to the other men to lower the boards and bring up the chains.

            "That's it, gents.  That's it!" Barbossa encouraged from his spot on the ground, surprised that his plan had worked.  Now that the pirates knew what was coming, they made a line on the outer edge of the steps, holding up their stones and knocking away any oncoming spears as the five men pushed the large chest onto the board and wrapped a set of chains around the front to keep it from falling.  Slowly they made their way down the stairway, sliding the trunk down the boards.  When they had reached the end of the second plank a few men from the top grabbed the first and laid it down below to continue the line.  

Elinor's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets; _Jesus Christ, it's working,_ she thought.  Looking to Barbossa, she thought he looked like a young child at Christmas.  His eyes held a new light similar to the one he expressed that night in his washroom—the sight of lust.  He stepped forward, hands slightly outstretched.  As the men made their way down, those covering them also moved out of harm's way.

            "Well done, mates.  Well done indeed," he congratulated, clasping them on the back as they threw down their stones and continued the path out into the clearing.  The rain poured onto the pirates' backs, soaking their mangled clothing and dampening their trail.  Lightning split the sky over their heads as they pulled the chest across the planks and entered the trees.

            "It worked.  I can't believe it bloody worked," Elinor said to herself as she was led out behind them.

            "Not as dumb as I look then, eh?" came Barbossa's voice from over her shoulder.

            "Close to it," she snapped back.  "Who knows what sort of curse has been placed on the chest itself.  That was just a booby trap!"  He walked up to her and clasped his hand over her mouth to stifle her shouting.  

            "Ignore her, gents.  The treasure's ours!"  Cheering was heard as the trunk made its way through the forest and—several hours later—onto the beach.  

It took eight men to load it into the nearest longboat.  A few of those placed their hands on top of the elaborately carved trunk, ready to open it then and there.

            "No.  Not until she be safe aboard the _Pearl_," the captain said, pushing their hands off the lid.  They nodded and stepped into the boat.  The only reason for the vessels was to keep the chest afloat—everything else was soaked.  Elinor sat in the middle of the one she had come in, a much more relaxed—if not entirely disappointed—posture settling into her body.  William sat next to her as a few others filed in.  Barbossa was the last to enter—making sure that the boat that held the treasure was safely pushed off.

As they rowed back to the ship, the storm followed them, a dark fog trailing behind.

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	7. Foggy Circumstances

Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 7

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            "Would you care to explain why you addressed me as 'Captain' earlier?"

The response to this inquiry was the slyest smirk Elinor had ever seen.  

            "Yeh wouldn't answer teh anything else," William replied matter-of-factly.  Then, in a hushed tone, "Come teh think of it, yeh probably _won't_ answer teh anythin' else, and fer good reason, too—"

            "And what's that!?" North hissed, jumping from her seat as if to challenge him.  Ahead of the two, Captain Barbossa felt the rock of the vessel as the woman moved and turned.

            "Be there somethin' yeh need, Elinor?" he asked in mock politeness.

            "Nothing you can give me, Captain," she spat back.  Around her the men in the boat were stunned in silence as Barbossa's nostrils began to flare like a rabid dog, or an enraged bull ready to strike the matador.  He walked with an uncanny steadiness over to where she stood, swaying back and forth with the motion of the longboat.  Grabbing her upper arm, he hissed into her ear.

            "If that be the case, then yeh'd better sit yer fine ass down before yer lost teh Davy Jones."  After throwing her down into her seat he stepped over to the front of the boat, straightening his coat and hat.  Elinor watched him for a moment, unconsciously admiring his status as captain, before Bill shifted in his seat and brought her back.

            "Rearranging his outer appearance won't help rectify his hideous inner self," she mumbled, looking out into the billowing fog that slowly crept up on them.  The thick gray curtain shrouded the face that laughed at her remark.  She looked to Bootstrap—or to where he should have been.  The fog was so thick she could barely see in front of her.  She put up a hand, attempting to pull back the curtain, as if re-directing tobacco smoke, or the remnants of canon or gunfire.  A larger, rougher hand caught hers, vibrating with the deep laugh of Bootstrap Bill.

            "I hate to disappoint yeh, but that's not going teh do it," he joked, dark eyes sparkling against the pale surroundings.

            "I know _that_," she replied defensively, pulling her hand away.  Stealing a glance at him, Elinor counted Bill as the second man she wished to throw overboard.  He sat there with a lop-sided grin on his face, with his hands loosely placed in his lap; he was almost more antagonizing as she was.

It was rather annoying.

Registering her deep scowl, he shifted his gaze to the waters below.  He dipped a finger into the liquid; it was icy to the touch, very unusual for Caribbean waters.  As he noticed this he furrowed his brows in thought.  A shiver ran down his spine, as if the finger of Death had grazed his skin, warning him.

Up ahead, somewhere lost in the fog, came the shouts of the crew.  Barbossa leaned forward, ears attempting to hear what his eyes could not see.  

            "We'll all get our shares once she's aboard!  Get yer hands off!"

            "I'm takin' my share now, 'fore the Captain empties it all into his own pockets!"

            "He wouldn't do that!  He told us he'd be fair about it, didn' he?"

            "He's a PIRATE!  He led the mutiny against Captain Sparrow!  What makes yeh think he wouldn'—"

The bickering men froze as the last longboat came into view.  Barbossa stood at the front, his arms crossed, a calm expression overcoming his hard face.  He breathed slowly, patiently, as his vessel pulled up next to the _Pearl_.

            "He was tryin' teh take some of the treasure before yeh got here, Captain," explained one pirate as he pointed accusingly at the other.  Barbossa looked at the other, balding man, who cradled a large amount of the gold coins in his shirt.  He looked at the chest—with it's lid pushed open, the gold emitting a light not unlike the sun itself, or that of a brightly burning fire—then back at the thief.

            "I…I…," he stammered, still clutching the coins.  Barbossa sighed, drawing his pistol.  He could hear the clink of metal against wood as the pirate let slip a few of the gold pieces.

            "Put them back in the chest, you idiot!" hissed Elinor from behind the captain.  The frightened man looked from her to Barbossa before dumping the contents of his shirt back into the chest.  All the while the captain slowly readied his gun—cocking it and even shining it with his shirt.

            "I p-put them back, I d-did what you said," he stuttered at Elinor as Barbossa raised his gun.  

            "Who made her Captain?" he asked as he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into the middle of the pirate's head.  He fell back into the waters with a heavy splash.  The man who had ratted on him now stood wiping blood of his shirt.

            "Jesus, Barbossa, yeh didn' have to shoot him," William stated from behind North.

            "SHUT UP, BOOTSTRAP!" the captain yelled, turning his gun on him, "or yeh'll be next!"  Elinor stepped back in fear of the man that stood before her—his entire body shook, his eyes were plastered wide open, his lips pressed tightly together, and a vein pulsated against his temple.  "_I_ am the captain of the _Pearl_ now, and yeh better address me as such," he said through clenched teeth.  

Elinor shivered at the touch of Bill's sigh against the back of her neck.

            "Very well, _Captain_.  I apologize."  Barbossa noticed his sarcasm, walking over to him and pushing the woman out of the way while doing so—she nearly falling into the ocean herself.

            "Next time yeh won't get the chance teh apologize," he whispered.  Elinor stood frozen; she was not fond of confrontations—avoiding them whenever she could—so this was a different and disturbing situation for her. 

Bootstrap attempted to act as if the captain intimidated him, but North could still see that sparkle in his eyes.  His superior, however, did not notice it as he turned and commanded the chest to be heaved aboard.

            "Line up!  Twenty gold pieces to all, grab 'em and move on," he shouted once everyone was on deck.  The pirates stood in what Elinor assumed was supposed to be a line—each man stood aside to peer over the next lad's shoulder, just to make sure there would be enough gold left for them when their time came.  They held out shirts, rags, cans, hats—anything that would hold their prize.

And indeed it was a prize; the fog could not deter the light that emitted from the coins—as if they were producing their own light, rather than a reflection.  Barbossa surveyed the men as they gathered the gold, counting with them to make sure none took more than what was fair.  

            "18…19…20.  That's it, mate.  Get on with yeh.  How many does that make, Bo'sun?" the captain asked as the next pirate stepped forward.

            "540, sir," came the answer, as Bo'sun counted the dashes upon the paper he held.

            "540 gold pieces," repeated the captain, pleased with himself.  "There must be at least 300 more in this chest."

            "Aye," assured his fellow seaman, nodding as he watched Elinor sneak away to the bow.

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            "Why aren't you hoarding the treasure with the rest of those dogs?" North asked a dark figure leaning against the rail.  He turned to her, his gaze far off, as if he'd been thinking, pondering, regretting.

            "I don't believe in possessin' cursed treasure, Miss North."

            "Ah, so it's back to 'Miss' now, eh?" she asked, lifting herself onto the railing.  William instinctively put out a hand to make sure she didn't fall.  Elinor took notice of this.  "What happened to 'Captain'?"  The man rotated around and placed his elbows on the rail to steady himself.  

            "You made it pretty clear yeh weren't a captain—"

            "Which is entirely true," she interrupted.  Bootstrap looked her in the eyes; it made her extremely nervous.

            "Yeh seem mighty determined to set things straight," he observed.

            "And why shouldn't I?  I don't want _lies_ going around about me," she said defensively, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.  "Besides, if I _were_ a pirate, I would have the mark of one, would I not?"  There was a grunt of approval as Bootstrap looked out over the glass surface below them.  The sun was just beginning to set beyond the fog; some of which had cleared out, but there was still a thick layer of smoke surrounding the hull of the _Pearl,_ casting it in an eerie light.  The colors of the horizon painted a brilliant landscape of fiery reds, rich purples, and vibrant yellows.  Elinor stuck her wrist out in front of William's nose just to prove her point.

            "And since I do _not_ have said mark, I am not a pirate."  Her smug attitude turned his face red.  She wiggled her fingers at eye level; he could feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears.  To calm the effect he grabbed her wrist and threw it back in her lap.

And then grabbed the opposite wrist, where a thick leather band covered the skin there.

Tearing it from her arm, he uncovered two very insightful marks.

One was a tattoo of a compass with an 'N' indicating the direction—and her name—north.

The other was a brand.

Of a capital 'P'.

            "What were yeh saying?" inquired Bill, staring at her with cold eyes.  Elinor's mouth was wide open but no words came out, as if she had just been caught stealing from her mother's pantry, or had just been shot by her best friend.  "Hmm?" he asked, challenging her.  She struggled to break free of his grasp, fearful of any other crewmembers—and especially Barbossa—finding out what the man had just discovered.  As she wrapped her wrist, he looked calmly out over the railing, that haughty smirk playing across his lips.  Still, his stiff posture hinted that he wasn't really expecting to find what he did—that it was more pure luck and circumstance than anything.

"Not all pirates choose teh get the brand—only if they're mighty dedicated to the cause.  When an' if they do, it's embedded on the wrist they fight with," he explained, not looking at the woman staring back at him.  "I didn't know yeh were a lefty," he said quietly after an awkward moment of silence.

"Now you know," she whispered, coming down from the railing to stand next to him.     

            "So everything yeh said about yer father—being captain of the _Three Fates_—"

            "Mm hmm."

            "Why would yeh lie?  Why didn't yeh just say yeh were a pirate when the captain asked?"  Elinor bent over and scuffed her feet, knocking a pebble and disrupting the smooth surface of the water.

            "How would you react to not only a female pirate showing up on your vessel, but a drunk, captain-of-her-own-ship female pirate?"  Will laughed beside her—a soft, comforting laugh.

            "I wouldn't believe it."  

            "Exactly," she stated flatly.  Will looked into her dark eyes…and saw a smarter woman than he once thought.

            "Yer not one of those female pirate captains with a whole female crew that fishes fer unsuspecting pirate ships like ours—"

            "And pretends we're a ship of whores ready for the taking—"

            "Boards the ship, shows off yer…packages—"  (Elinor snorted at this.)

            "And then pulls out our swords and raids the vessel?  No, that's not me and me crew."  She laughed, shaking her head.  "There's only one other female member of the _Fates_."  She leaned in close to whisper.  "And she's the cook."  Bootstrap threw his head back and laughed; the sound seemed to echo against the fog.

            "Telling jokes are we, Elinor?"

Spinning around unusually fast, both Will and the woman faced Captain Barbossa, who held two bags of gold in his hands.

            "Just commenting on the lack of control your men have over their bladders," she said loudly, causing heads to turn and cutlasses to be drawn.  Barbossa scowled, stepping slowly up to where she stood.

            "Best not be making light the habits of a dead man," he warned in a deep voice.  Elinor shivered, looking from his steel eyes to the bags hanging at his side.  He followed her gaze before tossing the sacks—each to their respected owner.

            "Yeh both fergot yer share," he growled.  Will and Elinor looked at each other before throwing the parcels back.  Barbossa was caught by surprise and missed them, both falling to the floorboards at his feet.  He was too shocked to pick them up.

            "We didn't forget, Captain," started Bootstrap.

            "We don't want _cursed_ loot," explained North.  She leaned back as the color in Barbossa's face turned bright, his muscles tensing and his jaw clenching.

            "Fine," he hissed, "more for _me_."  With that he took a firm hold on each of the parcels and spun on his heels, marching away from where they stood.  Will leaned back on the rail, twirling one of the gold coins over his knuckles.

            "Where did that come from?"

            "Hole in the bottom," he answered nonchalantly.  Elinor looked to the receding back of the captain.

            "I feel compelled to go after him and warn him of his actions."  Bootstrap laughed.

            "Go on then…though I don't see it doin' much good," he added as an afterthought, watching her as she ran to Barbossa.

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            "You're behaving rather childish over all this," she said as she pulled on Barbossa's sleeve to slow him down.  He immediately halted and proceeded to yell at her.

            "I thought I were bein' FAIR about the whole business!  Lord only knows what came over me—"

            "Fair, eh?" she shouted back.  "Being so's we all have a fair share in the curse, I say!"  The captain pushed her out of the way and hurried to the steps leading up to his cabin.  "Do you even _know_ what it's supposed to do to you?" she asked his back.

            "_He who taketh from this chest shall suffer among the living as the undead,"_ he quoted.  Elinor stopped at the top step.

            "Where?"

            "Inscription on the chest," he explained, not looking back as he opened and shut the door of his cabin behind him.

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	8. Apples and Ambrosia

Okay, after much debate (between the voices in my head) I've decided that I want to find out how this story ends, just as you (hopefully) do.  So here it is, chapter eight.  A word of caution, however.  There is rum, apples, and implied explicit behavior in this installment.  You have been warned.

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 8

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            "What do you think it means?"

Her voice was calm, quiet–a sharp contrast with her outburst on the main deck just minutes earlier.  After deciding to follow the captain into his quarters, she threw open the door, eyes narrowed and muscles ridged.

 But upon seeing Barbossa's slumped form by the window–his face in one hand, his troubled eyes shielded from all–Elinor relaxed as well.  He had not jumped at her noisy entrance, nor turned to look at her stiff posture; he only sighed and rubbed his temples, resting against the sill.  The woman closed the door behind her in order to save him from the prying eyes of his crew.  She knew enough to respect his pride as Captain–to hide his unknowing distress from those who look up to him.

            "I have no bloody idea," he admitted solemnly, like a murderer to his crimes, or a scientific genius to the question, "Is there a God?"

Elinor walked slowly toward Barbossa, who now stood taller–one arm wrapped around his chest, the other resting upon it, holding his chin as he thought.  His crystal blue eyes dilated as they adjusted to the oncoming darkness of evening.  He had the look of a wax sculpture, and other than the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the woman most surely would have mistaken him otherwise.

            "'_He who taketh from this chest shall suffer among the living as the undead'," she repeated softly, attempting to find hidden meaning within its words.  The captain nodded as she spoke–whether agreeing with her correct regurgitation of the verse or wanting her to get through it faster she wasn't sure.  "So the curse is real," she concluded, coming to rest behind Barbossa.  The man whirled around on her, his eyes darkening before hers, his finger raised at the bridge of her nose._

            "We have no proof of that, lass," he said sternly, before turning back to the sea.  "Could jus' be another somethin' teh scare 'em all off."  He spoke as if trying to convince himself it were true.               

            "And if it's not?" Elinor asked, sounding more insistent than she meant to come off as.  Barbossa sighed again, a feat becoming more eerily difficult ever since the fog rolled in and he retrieved his coins from the chest.

            "Then may the powers that be," he started, closing his eyes, "have mercy upon our souls."  The captain turned slowly toward Elinor, his eyes softer than she had ever seen them.  No matter how hard he fought with himself–trying to believe there was no curse, that he was out for treasure and treasure was what he had found–he couldn't help but be worried.  Even concerned, if the word fit.

He held Elinor's gaze until she broke the line, looking down to her hands.  She had no words for him.  Barbossa inhaled as he limped to his desk, his old injury bothering him more than ever before.  Upon sitting he reclined back, stretching his tired legs and reaching his arms toward the heavens.  Through the window came a flash of lightning, illuminating a bag of coins lying at the corner of the tabletop.  Ever so cautiously, the captain raised a hand and plucked a gold piece from its resting place.

Across the way, Elinor stood with her hand on her stomach.  She hadn't eaten all day, and her insides were letting her know.  She looked around for her trunk, remembering that she had a few precious consumable commodities tucked away somewhere amidst all her belongings.  At least she hoped they were still there.

            "I know you're in here," she teased as she threw open the lid of her trunk and rummaged through her things.  A spark in her eye hinted at her excitement when she found her prize.  "Ah, there yeh are, love," she sighed, pulling a handkerchief out from the bottom of the chest.  Unfolding the fabric, a familiar pale green helped to paint a smile upon her lips.  Oh how she had missed that sour, succulent fruit.  After rubbing the piece on her jacket, she proceeded to consume her favorite food in the entire world.

Upon hearing the customary crush of teeth against flesh, Barbossa raised his head.  The sight he met startled him; across the room, Elinor stood cradling an apple–but no apple he had ever seen.

It was...green.

He watched her devour the fruit, salivating unconsciously as the liquid poured from the corners of her mouth, like the sweet ambrosia of the gods.  Wondering about where she had pulled it from and about the characteristics of such a fruit, Barbossa pulled himself from his chair and walked slowly toward her.

            "What the bloody hell is that?"

Elinor jumped back, obviously not cognizant of the captain's procession toward her feast.  She clutched the half-eaten apple close to her chest, as if it were a sacred heirloom of an ancestor's, or her child.

Barbossa stood waiting, his eyes void of all previous emotion about the fate of himself and his crew.  They were cold and narrowed, with a hint of curiosity.  He looked to the food in the woman's hand, and she followed.

            "This is an _apple_, my dear Captain," she replied, extending her arm and unfolding her hand for him to see.  "Haven't you–"

            "Of course I have!" he snapped.  "But," he started, plucking the fruit from her hand to examine it, "why is it _green?"  Elinor could not suppress her laughter.  She clasped her mouth, stifling the noise while the captain shot her a look.  She couldn't believe that a man that traveled as much as he had never seen a __green apple before._

            "It's a sour apple.  My uncle used to have an orchard outside of Penzance.  My father would drop me off there for a few weeks in the fall to help with collecting the apples from their trees."  She gazed out the window, smiling to herself.  "That's where I fell in love for the first time."

The captain raised a brow.  "With one of yer uncle's young workers, I suppose?"

            "With _apples,_ Captain," she stated, winking at him.  Barbossa looked down to the food in his hand.  How could this type of apple be any better than the red ones he had always known?  Bananas were more of his fruit of choice anyway—convenient really, with Jack and all.            

But oh how that juice flowed into his mouth, that delicious liquid that invaded the buds of Elinor's just a few moments earlier.  The apple was cold and coarse, tearing across his tongue and the insides of his cheek before turning to soft pulp and slipping easily down his throat.  He opened his eyes, licked his lips.

            "I think, perhaps, I've found a new favorite of mine," he announced before raising the orb to his lips once more.

            "Oh no," Elinor threatened, reaching out.  "That's the only one left, and I'm not about to let you have it all."  Barbossa pulled back, his eyes suddenly greedy.  The woman reacted with a furrowing of the brows.  Lightning lit up the skies once more and Elinor caught a glimpse of what she thought was hunger now invading the captain's eyes.

            "Then I suppose, seein' as we both wish to indulge ourselves," the glint in his eye frightened the woman, "we should _share._"  Barbossa turned and led North to the dining table through a door at the far side of the room.  The eating surface was worn, cut deep with remnants of quarrels and stained with juices of feasts.  The area itself was warmly lit, with strategically placed candles residing along a waist-level mantle circulating the room.  

The captain pulled out a well-made chair, holding out the fruit for Elinor to take.  Sitting adjacent to him, she took a bite, relishing in the sour nectar.  Barbossa eyed her with a look she failed to place.  Halfway between curiosity and an odd, lustful amusement.  After swallowing, she returned the apple to the hand that gave it to her, their fingers gently touching for a brief moment.  The captain took his bite, and the process continued.

And then there was one bite left to be taken.  Elinor reluctantly gave up the apple for Barbossa to take the last bit; but instead of doing so, he placed it on the table and rose.  As he walked passed the woman, she grabbed his arm.  He looked slowly down at her.

            "Aren't you going to finish it?" she demanded.

            "Yes," he stated simply, before continuing his journey back into his chamber.  Elinor turned to the apple, her eyes and mouth wide.  What was he doing?  She strained her ears to hear if he was on his way back.  Hearing the opening of what seemed to be a small door–a cabinet, perhaps–Elinor assumed they were not finished.

Barbossa returned, placing a large bottle on the table next to the apple.

It was rum.

Oh, sweet rum!  How she had missed that welcome sight–the curve of the bottle, the slender neck, the bubbling foam of the dark liquid.  Unconsciously, North licked her lips.

And the captain smiled.

            "We will share the last bite," he started, pulling a knife from a hidden pocket, "just as we 'ave shared the majority of the whole fruit."  He carved the last bit of salvageable apple from its core and held it loosely in one hand.

            "I don't want to share it anymore," Elinor said with a distant tone, her eyes fixed on the rum, "you can have it."  She shifted in her chair as the captain pulled the bottle closer to himself.

            "Yeh won't be havin' this until we _both_ finish this apple."  The woman glared at him.

            "Then cut that piece in half and we'll finish it."  But instead of following her suggestion, Barbossa placed the blade back into his coat and stuck half of the piece in his mouth, the other half protruding slightly.  Elinor's face contorted.

            "What's in your head?"  The captain rolled his eyes, removing the slice so that he could talk.                  

            "If yeh be wantin' any of this rum, yeh'll do best teh follow the captain's orders." 

Replacing the fruit, he leaned forward, arms crossed, brow raised.  North looked to the alcohol and frowned.

            "You sick, manipulative bastard."

            "Pirate, lass.  I knew my father."  The woman snorted.  She thought for a moment, but realized there was no way around the situation unless she humored him.  As she leaned forward, Barbossa followed.  The lines of age were creeping across his face, rough and dark, like old leather.  He smelled of apple juice, steel, and the sea.  Elinor's eyes closed as her open lips touched the piece of fruit, closing down and hardly grazing the abrasive lips of the captain.  She pulled back quickly, chewing even faster, eyes glued to the bottle.

Barbossa's lips twisted into an evil smile as he handed the rum to the woman, who promptly uncorked and took one long swig.  As she came up for a breath, the captain laughed.

            "I do believe, Miss North, that you and I will end up in the same bed before this night is over."  Elinor nearly spit back up her alcohol.

            "I would have to be _very_ drunk to get in bed with the likes of _you, _Captain," she spat, already feeling her head begin to spin.  It seemed forever since she last had a drink.  Barbossa snatched the bottle from her hand and took a sip himself.  As he pulled the flask away, he let some of the liquid spread across his lips, just enough to make them glisten.  North reached for the container, but he just pulled it closer to him, pointing to his mouth.  When Elinor registered his implications, she furrowed her brows.

            "I could kill you," she gritted, pulling herself up.  "Where is that knife?"  She reached to probe inside the captain's jacket, in all seriousness wishing to harm him.  She hated games. 

He took hold of her wrist and grinned.

            "There's no stoppin' it, Elinor.  You and I both want this."

            "Speak for your goddamned self," she hissed, jabbing once more for the bottle.  Barbossa took advantage, pulling her onto his lap and pressing his lips to hers.

Oh sweet ambrosia, luscious alcohol.  

North ignored that fact that she was kissing the evil captain of the _Black Pearl._ She focused instead on ridding his skin of the rum she so loved.  It was a harsh kiss, by Barbossa's standards; Elinor sucked and licked as if she had let some of the rum fall on her own arm and was attempting to lap it up before it evaporated.  When she pulled back, both their lips were pulsing red.  The captain smiled and let North have another shot, taking advantage of her now pounding head and pulling the bottle away before she could get a firm enough grip on it. 

Things were spinning in front of the woman–something that usually didn't start until after about an hour of drinking, or after eight or so swigs...depending on which came first.

But this was something new.  It wasn't just the rum; it was the apple, it was Barbossa.  Between the candlelight and her blurred vision she could make out his handsome, strong face.  The lines of age were no longer visible; the battle scars had disappeared.

Elinor fought to keep her eyes from watering as her throat burned from the liquor.  The captain downed another swig but did not swallow.  He pointed to his lips once more, void of any apple slice.  North's head swam upon her neck as she tried to focus her vision.  

And then she relaxed.

The alcohol seeped into her bloodstream, flowing to her muscles and releasing them from their strain.  It traveled to her mind, easing it of its stress and all thoughts and worries.  It journeyed to her eyes, which looked to the bottle, and then to the captain.

And then she felt herself kissing him for the second time, absorbing the alcohol from the inside of his mouth.  From his tongue and the inside of his cheeks.  From his lips and chin. 

The next thing she knew, Barbossa had stood–his lips still attached to hers, his chair having been kicked back onto the ground–and Elinor found herself removing his clothing as he did the same for her. 

_______________________

The screech of a gull woke Elinor the next morning.  She lay in bed, her eyes crusted nearly shut, with sheets wrapped tightly around her tired body.  Wincing as she opened her eyes to the harsh light of the morning sun, North looked down.

To her naked body, and a finger tracing the scar just below her collarbone.

She shifted, and felt a body next to her stir as well.

            "Mornin'," it said in a gruff voice.  Elinor couldn't help but gasp at the sight of the captain's blue eyes gazing into her dark ones.  He had been watching her sleep.

He was also without clothes.

            "Oh dear God.  What have we done?"  Barbossa smirked wickedly, looking down and stroking her arm.

            "I told yeh we'd end up here."

            "JESUS!" she screeched, yanking herself away from him.  She fell out of bed, taking one of the blankets with her.  Wrapping it tightly around herself, she went to the window.  The seagull, which had roused her from her slumber, stood staring at her curiously.

            "Go away," she said sternly, enunciating her words as she batted the bird, sending it flying out into the Caribbean air with a shriek.

            "Oh come now," came a rough voice from behind her, "don't go blamin' an innocent creature on yer less-than-innocent activities."  Barbossa laughed as he wrapped his arms around Elinor, kissing her neck gently. 

            "I can't believe you took advantage of me while I was intoxicated," she said quietly, tearing away from him with eyes ablaze.  Wrapped around his waist was the sheet they had slept in, scars dotting his lean torso.  He threw up his arms in response.

            "I was just as drunk, woman."  It was then that Elinor looked to where they had slept–not only one, but _three rum bottles dotted the area, along with a rotting apple core.  Her senses came back to her slowly, waking her body and the textures dotting her skin.  It was still moist, and glutinous, as if something had been spilled all over her.  She brought her arm to her face, smelling, then licking it._

Rum.                

And it all came back.  Rum.  All over.  All over her.  All over _them._  She winced–not because it disgusted her, all those events of the previous night, but because she enjoyed it.  She remembered the gentleness of the captain, the creativeness of their foreplay.

            "Oh God," she said again, her face falling into her hands.  Feeling a hand gently push back her hair, she looked up into the face of Barbossa.  "It was good, wasn't it?"

            "Indeed," he growled, dipping to kiss her.  But behind him rose a powerful image, which tore Elinor's attention away.

An enormous sculpture of three faceless women rose from the waters side by side.  The woman in the middle held high above her head a thread between her fingers, creating the string of one's life.  On her left was the woman who wove the threads together, her demeanor soft and gentle.  On the far side was a wild woman with a wicked job–that of clipping the thread once it had completed it's journey.  Her hands were tangled with the cut strings of her victims.  Elinor followed the carvings up to the bowsprit of a magnificent ship.

One she felt she hadn't seen in years.

Her mouth gaped open; her eyes bulged in their sockets.  Barbossa turned and followed her gaze just as the door to his cabin banged opened.  They spun at the same time, witness to a proud, dark figure enter the vicinity.

            "Well hello again, Captain North."

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Please review.


	9. Captain of the Fates

NOTE:  Here it is…what I know you've all been waiting for.  I finally managed to finish this, in-between writing a MILLION papers and pulling a MILLION strands of hair out of my head.  

I hope you appreciate the efforts :)

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 9

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          "You—"

There came a chuckle from the door, as the dark form stepped in from the bright morning.  He was tall and lean, dressed in the traditional British Naval officer's uniform.  His dark hair was slicked back under a tricorne, which shielded his icy blue eyes from the burning sun.  Smiling a devilish smirk, he raised a brow and advanced further into the room.

            "Aye, lass, 'tis me," he replied, winking at her.  Both North and Barbossa wrapped their sheets tight around their bodies.  The captain of the _Black Pearl_ noticed a spiteful look flash across Elinor's face.  

            "You bastard," she hissed.  "You disgustin', villainous spawn of Satan!"  Her voice gradually rose to a level that even shocked Barbossa.  The man at the door had a glint in his eye as he pulled a pistol from his pressed uniform.  

            "Those are some awfully harsh words, Steelwater," he said, polishing his gun on his jacket, avoiding her blazing glare.

            "'Steelwater'?" came an inquiry from behind the woman.  Both North and the intruder looked up to meet the questioning look of Barbossa.  He saw the smile spread across the stranger's face as he wrapped a strong arm around the torso of Elinor and held the pistol to her temple.  Rather than looking frightened, she was enraged.  Kicking and cursing, she attempted to break free; her captor only laughed.

            "Didn't she tell you her name _before_ you ravaged her, Captain?" he asked, grinning at Barbossa's red cheeks.  

            "She said her name was North," he answered through gritted teeth.

            "Indeed," the man answered, pressing his cheek against her hair.  "As cold and proud as the wind that blows and the sea that sprays.  Pray tell, Captain, did she tell you her given name?"  At this, Elinor's eyes widened.  She shook her head in an attempt to warn Barbossa not to speak it.  After considering the notion, his curiosity got the best of him.

            "Elinor."

            "Ah, so that's it, is it?" the stranger confirmed, subduing a struggling woman.  He held her so tight she could hardly breathe.  He laughed at what seemed to be a "bastard" come out of her mouth.  Barbossa watched the spectacle calmly, seizing his chance as the stranger pushed the edge of the sheet off of North's shoulder.  But as he reached for the nearest weapon—Elinor's sword, lying atop her chest—there came a warning.

            "Not so fast, Captain," the stranger said.  "I'm not quite finished introducing you both."  With the woman in his grasp, he took a few steps toward Barbossa.  Elinor remained tense under his touch, but no longer struggled.  "Allow me to introduce _Captain_ 'Steelwater' North, of the _Three Fates._  Or should I say, _formally_ of said ship."  Barbossa raised a brow, looking from the man to Elinor, who looked helplessly back.

            "I was going to tell you—" she started quietly, but was cut off by a hideous laugh.

            "How can it be true?  Yer father—" Barbossa began, ceasing the laughter while not quite believing her.

            "Father?  Is that how you covered?" the stranger asked.  "Skeptical, Captain?  Just take a look at that cutlass you're holding."  Elinor winced as he readjusted his grasp of her.  Barbossa unsheathed the weapon.  Engraved in the blade was the name _Captain Elinor 'Steelwater' North_.  He read the name allowed, before lowering the steel.  His shoulders dropped with his eyes.  

            "That _is_ interesting," he said, coming to terms with her lies.  _She is a pirate after all, _he thought.  

            "It is indeed.  And did you wonder, Captain—as you took her last night, perhaps even this morning as well—what this mark was above her breast?" the intruder asked, stroking the spot on Elinor's skin.  He didn't wait for the answer; instead, he took the pistol from her temple and wrapped his arm completely around her neck while reaching in his coat for a knife.  Retrieving it, he slid it softly across the scar.

            "_I_ gave it to her."  She started thrashing again, but the man only laughed.

            "Who the hell are you?" Barbossa demanded.

            "My apologies, sir," he said mockingly, "Captain Nigel Morissey, of the King's Navy."  As he said this, he straightened his posture, pulling back his shoulders and North with him.

            "Captain," came a call from the door.  A young officer poked his head into Barbossa's cabin, pausing momentarily to survey the scene before him.  

            "What is it?" Morissey demanded without looking at him.

            "We've gathered them all and are ready to re-board."  Nigel smirked.

            "Very good, Mr. Dennison," came the response.  The officer smiled to himself.  "Lock them in the brig.  I shall join you shortly."  As the man's shadow disappeared, Morissey turned back to the matter at hand.  "Well, shall we, my dear?" he asked into Elinor's ear.  She jerked away as he snorted.

            "Hasn't a captain at least have the righ' teh be clothed when captured?" Barbossa asked from the window.  Morissey narrowed his eyes before speaking.

            "I suppose."  

Barbossa shifted uneasily when the captain and Elinor did not move.  

            "On with it, then," the man persisted.  Barbossa took the hint, walking around the room and gathering his clothing.  He turned his back to the two occupants as he dressed.  _He has been insulted, belittled in front of this pig,_ thought Elinor.  _No dignity left._  As Barbossa straightened his hat, he spun slowly around.  The humiliated look on his face was unmistakable.  

            "Put these on," Nigel said as he threw the captain iron shackles.  Barbossa stared at them for a moment, not believing what was happening.  "Now," came a stern, loud voice.  Elinor watched sadly as the captain of the _Black Pearl_ bent down and picked up the cuffs, slipping them over his wrists and securing them.  Her eyes filled with tears to where she had to blink them back.  "Out with you," Nigel commanded when he was finished.

            "Wait, what about my clothes?  Aren't I a captain as well?" North protested.  Morissey snorted.

            "Captain of what?"  Elinor nearly bit the tip of her tongue off as she gnashed her teeth together.

            "Why you—" She lashed violently against Nigel's chest.  As he was trying to regain control of her, Barbossa saw his second window of opportunity.  He came charging toward the captain, whose back was now turned to him.  Before he could crash into him, however, he had a gun pointing at the spot between his eyes.

            "I wouldn't do anything foolish if I were in your position, Captain," the man threatened.

            "I'm goin' teh swing anyway," he retaliated, his nostrils flaring.  Nigel grinned.

            "That you are."  Elinor could hear his excitement.  "Get out."

            "What about my clothes!?" Elinor screamed as she was dragged from the cabin.

            "Oh no, Elinor.  I have plans for you," he answered, smiling to himself.  He held her tight as they walked behind Barbossa across to the adjacent ship.  The sulking captain turned to look once more at the three ladies at the bow of the vessel.

            "Magnificent, aren't they?" Morissey asked from behind, receiving no answer. "Lady Lachesis will have the last say in your life, I'm afraid."  The other captain hung his proud head and proceeded up the plank to the _Fates._  

            "Mr. Dennison," commanded Nigel as they boarded, "the _Black Pearl_ needs a crew.  See to it that she arrives safely in Port Royal."  The officer rounded up ten of Morissey's men to board the opposite ship.  

            "A fairly decent addition to the British fleet, wouldn't you say?" he asked Barbossa, who still would not speak.  North thought his behavior odd.  "Mr. Merret?"

            "Yes, sir?"  A lofty, lean officer stepped out of the crowd.  

            "Take this man below," he said, looking toward Barbossa.  Merret obeyed, grabbing hold of the captain's arm and leading him away from Elinor and Nigel.  "You've missed her, I can tell," he whispered into her ear as he led her to her old cabin.  North bit her tongue to stop from cursing.  "She's missed you, too," he said as the door to the room opened and her eyes fell upon the space.  

Her old bed, just as it was—dark blue coverings accenting Caribbean blue pillows.  The high headboard of hand-crafted mahogany was untouched; as was everything else in the room—save for the clothes in the wardrobe and the papers on the heavy matching desk in the back corner of the room.  Even all her books seemed to be accounted for; Elinor had an expansive library—everything from Chaucer to Shakespeare.

Nigel left her standing in the middle of the room in just her sheet as he turned to lock the door.  She heard him set his pistol down on an end table behind her.  

            "Sit," he said as he gently pushed her down onto her own bed.  The woman watched him go through a doorway to her left that led to the dining area.  She caught a glimpse of her table and rug imported from India, along with the magnificent chandelier that hung over them both.  It was a beauty given to her by her uncle—the one from whom she learned to love apples.  "Here," Nigel said as he re-entered the room, handing her a slice of bread and a goblet of water.  Elinor took them tentatively, surprised at his generosity.  "Don't look at me like that; everyone needs to eat."

            _What?_ She thought quietly as she took a bite of the loaf, keeping her eyes on Nigel as he took off his coat and hung it in the massive wardrobe at the far side of the room, then returned to sit beside her.  

            "Well, shall we get on with it then?" she asked after she downed the goblet.

            "On with what?"  Elinor raised her brow.  Nigel laughed, almost embarrassingly.  "Ah yes, with _that._"  He pushed back a strand of her hair.  "As enticing as that sounds at the moment, I have work to do."

            "You _what?_" she demanded.  "Who the hell _are _you?"

            "Obviously not who you thought I was."  Morissey smiled as he got up and walked over to a chest sitting beside the desk.  Opening it, he pulled out a full, long plum dress, lined with gold trim and black layers beneath.  It was beautiful.

            "It was my mother's," he said as he brought the dress to North.  "She was just about your size."  The woman stood up as he held it against her.  "Yes, it will fit."  He held it out to her.  "Go on, take it.  By nightfall that sheet will be awfully cold to walk around in."  

Elinor gingerly took the dress into one hand.  She looked up into Nigel's cold blue eyes before she went to the washroom, noticing a small spark in them.  

The dress did indeed fit fairly well—save for her waist (and ribs) nearly being crushed while slipping it on.  She buttoned the front, scowling at the promiscuous choice of clothing of Mrs. Morissey and her likeliness to show off her chest.  After washing her face, Elinor turned to a vase sitting on the porcelain wash bin filled with blood-red roses.

She acted quickly, plucking the flowers from their resting place and pouring the water into the sink.  After wrapping the glass tightly in the elaborate dress, she tensed and smashed the vase against the wood floor.  It shattered without a sound.  Elinor let out her breath while she unwrapped the remnants, smiling to herself as she chose the sharpest shard of glass.  Setting it beside her, she held its companions within the folds of her outfit and carried them to the open window.  

Outside she could see the _Pearl_ drifting gently beside them.  The glass fell into the Caribbean as tears into a pool of rainwater.  After retrieving her weapon from the ground and placing it carefully between the layers of her bosom, she returned to the bedroom.

Nigel sat at her desk, scribbling on parchment.  His guest sat herself back upon the edge of the bed.

            "Am I to hang as well?" she wondered out loud.  The sound of writing stopped.

            "That all depends," the captain replied. 

            "On what?" Elinor inquired, forgetting herself.  

            "On you," he said, as if the answer was blatantly obvious.  He smiled and Elinor scowled.  "On your cooperation, that is," he clarified, rising from his chair.  The woman rested her chin on her hand, curiosity taking over.

            "With what?"

            "The capture of every last pirate in the Caribbean," he answered, his eyes smiling.  Elinor straightened.

            "How am I supposed to help with that?"  The questions kept coming.  "I have no idea where _every_ pirate ship makes berth.  This is precisely _why_ you have not captured them all already."

            "I see," Morissey answered, thinking.  Soon his smirk returned.  "Then perhaps we will have to formulate another plan."  He proceeded to tell Elinor his idea of a "high seas brothel", in which she and her all-female crew would lure pirates into an island harbor, where his ship and crew would be waiting just around the peninsula.  The plan sounded eerily familiar.

            "You want me to do _what?_"

            "You won't have to do _anything_," Nigel soothed, pulling up a chair to sit across from North.  "We will be upon them before they unlace your bodice."

            "Good Lord," Elinor exhaled, shaking her head.  Nigel watched patiently through forget-me-not eyes.

            "Do this," he urged, placing his hand upon her cheek, "and you shall live longer than your companions downstairs."  The woman sighed, avoiding his gaze.

            "Live for what?  I'm not so sure anymore."  Morissey caressed her skin gently with his thumb.  

            "You can start anew."

            "With you, I suppose?"  Nigel's face brightened.

            "You read my mind."  Elinor leaned in close; their noses nearly touched.

            "_Never,_" she whispered.  "I'll never succumb to you or your ridiculous, degrading plan."  She attempted to lean back, but the captain grabbed a handful of her hair and held her tight.

            "Then you shall hang for being the drunken whore you really are," he hissed into her ear.  Elinor struggled—but not to break free.  Nigel laughed only for a moment.  Soon he felt the cool sting of sharp glass against his cheek. 

            "Clever girl," he praised, releasing the woman's hair from his grasp.  Elinor stood.

            "Do not underestimate me, Captain," she warned, moving toward the door.

            "I never did," he answered, crossing his arms and gazing at her amusedly.  "What is your plan now?  Off to see that dog of yours?"  North tightened the grip on her weapon, ignoring the blood now flowing from her palm.  "You deserve better, Elinor."

            "Better than life on the sea?"

            "Better than Barbossa."

            "Better than you," she retaliated, opening the door to the afternoon sun.  Nigel held his hand to his eyes to shield the bright light.

            "I'll be seeing you," he said softly as Elinor ventured out onto the deck.

________________________

Ten points to whoever can guess where my inspiration for Morissey came from.

Please review.


	10. Herstory

Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 10

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            "Let me pass."

A strong arm stopped Elinor North as she stepped into the late afternoon sun.  The light nearly blinded her before a tall shadow stepped between them.

            "I can't let you do that, ma'am," Mr. Merret said, pulling out his pistol.

            "Like hell you can't!" Elinor shouted, holding her own weapon to the man's side.

Dove Merret was a strong, solid man.  He knew about the world and about life, even if he never completed his formal education.  He was charming and savvy, commanding female ears and eyes with a soft smile and baby-faced looks.  His age never stopped him; despite being the oldest member of Morrissey's crew, he was also the tallest, and still had a way with men and women alike.  

His charm, however, was running low at the moment.  He was tired and stressed.  Things became complicated the minute Nigel's men set foot on the _Pearl_—no one had been expecting the captain's grand pursuit to be aboard.

God, how long had they been chasing her?  It seemed like forever.  Everyone thought it crazy, that Morissey was obsessed.  He was chasing a bird that could not be caught.  That was what Dove had said to the captain after his third try—the one where he gave her that scar. 

Merret had a good view of it now as a piece of broken class nearly pierced the side of his uniform.  Elinor's fiery eyes bore into his.  Dove wanted to throw Nigel to the sharks.  Why didn't he just lock her up with the rest of them?

            "You wouldn't dare," he hissed at her.  His accent was American, which surprised the woman.  Odd to have an American in a British Naval Officer's position, she thought.  She lost herself for a moment, gazing into his gray eyes towering above her.  They held so much more depth and emotion than those of Barbossa or Morissey.  Right now, however, they looked more agitated than anything else.  

Elinor scowled and pressed the glass deeper.  She heard it pierce his jacket and come in contact with his skin.  Merret let out a groan and arched, his knees buckling slightly.

            "That's enough," came a stern voice from behind the pair.  North recognized it but did not let up on the pressure.  "I said that's enough!" Nigel shouted as he pushed the woman to the side, so hard it sent her to the boards.  

            "I told you we should've locked her up," said Merret as his captain examined his injury—merely a scratch.

            "Shut up, Dove.  Or you'll be the one I send below."  His tone was final.  On the deck, Elinor scrambled to recover her weapon.  Once found, she stowed it back in her dress.  Spinning on her, Nigel threatened, "Don't make me follow his advice, Steelwater.  Any more trouble and—"

            "Fine," she snapped as she jumped up.  The two stared at each other before Elinor pushed past him and headed for the stairs.  She avoided the eyes of the other crewmembers that were attracted to the spectacle.

            "Mr. Merret, I want you to accompany the lady below deck," Morissey commanded.

            "What!?" exclaimed Dove and Elinor in unison.  Nigel scowled and his cheeks reddened.

            "I'm sorry, was I whispering?" he asked, moving in on his officer.  Merret shook his head slowly, knowing he was in trouble.  "GO WITH HER!" his captain shouted, pushing him toward the stairs.  The officer stumbled before straightening his jacket and motioning for North to get a move on.  "One hour, you two!" Nigel shouted to their retreating backs.

Neither seemed to notice.

The afternoon sun cast a ghostly haze over the stairs leading below deck.  Elinor could barely make out the muffled voices and shuffling of the men in the cells.  

This is why she wished to visit; she wanted to see her crew, the crew of the _Fates_.  Closing her eyes to help them adjust to the sudden darkness, North stepped down into the prison.

Her heart immediately sank.  

Seven cells lined the walls.  Three were filled with those of Barbossa's crew—a fourth held the man himself.  The captain lay on his side on a bench supposing to be a bed.  His arms dangled lifeless off the edge, his hat lie on the ground beneath him.  He didn't look up as Elinor and Dove entered the area. 

North glanced at the crew; not a face belonged to her lot.  She frowned at their worn and tired faces as she stepped further into the darkness.  After bumping into a table, she winced slightly.  The corner had dug into her thigh.  

Looking down, her eyes fell upon the Holy Bible. 

A million thoughts and images flashed across her closed lids as she shut her eyes in a lousy attempt to stop the flooding memories.

________________________

            "'And now these three remain: Faith, hope and love.  But the greatest of these is love.'"  A tall, slender woman closed the Holy Bible, resting one hand on its black cover.  With the other she stroked the hair of her daughter's head.  "Remember the love, Ellie.  Always keep it in your heart."

            "I will, Mother."  The woman bent to kiss Elinor's forehead.  How she missed that affection.  

After tucking her in, Beatrix North blew out the light and went to the door.

            "I love you, Ellie.  More than life itself."

            "I love you too," was the response.  

That was the very last time Mrs. North ever read to her daughter, the final turn of the sacred scripts.  It used to be that every night she would read to Elinor, teaching her the ways of the Lord.  The young girl listened intently, knowing that the stories and verses were important but not fully understanding why.  

Love, her mother had insisted, was the single most important thing a person can possess.  Love for oneself, for others, and for Jesus the Father.

            "But I thought Papa was my father," Elinor inquired one night.  

Samuel North was captain of the merchant ship _Horizon_, which sailed to India and East Asia.  He was only home for three months out of the year, but when he was with them Elinor and her mother both took full advantage.  Elinor loved to hear stories of his journeys while sitting in his lap, gazing up into his pale blue eyes.  Even more so she adored her father's voice—a sensual blend of Irish and English.  She loved placing her small hands into his dark rough palms and wrapping herself around his lean torso or broad shoulders.  Her father was a loving man but a stern one as well.  The sea hardened him.  Elinor learned without being told when to quit; all it took was one furrow of those dark brows.  

            "Of course he is, Ellie," the woman laughed.  "Jesus is your father too.  He lives in here," she said, pointing to the girl's heart.  Elinor looked into her mother's soft eyes, still not understanding.  Beatrix sighed.  "You'll learn one day, don't worry."

That one day never came.  The time that passed between her father's visits grew unbearable.  He remained faithful to his wife and child, but time spent with them usually consisted of him napping or running errands for the company.  It was hard in those days not to let the sea get the best of you, but Sam reluctantly longed for the day he returned to the _Horizon._  Saltwater flowed in his veins by the time Elinor turned eleven.

Her mother had been growing steadily mad, neglecting her daughter and turning to other men.  Elinor would lie awake at night with the covers over her ears, attempting to block the noises from the room next to hers.  The sound of her mother's loneliness and guilt.  Her mother became unstable, paranoid when her father came home.  Never wanting him to touch her or be alone with her.  

Samuel never understood that it had nothing to do with him; she felt herself unworthy.

A few weeks before his return and a few after Elinor's eleventh birthday, her mother came to her in the middle of the night.  She tore open the door to her daughter's room, shaking her awake and telling her to grab her things.  As Elinor rubbed her eyes, she saw another man in the doorway—a strange, large man with a rough black beard and beady eyes.  

            "Mama—" she yawned as her mother frantically stuffed Elinor's belongings in a shabby old bag.  Beatrix quieted her, looking to the man in the doorway.  He checked his pocket watch.

            "Something has happened, Elinor.  I must go to London to tend to your Aunt."

            "Right now?"

            "Yes, right now.  It's urgent."  Mrs. North pulled her daughter out of bed and through their home, the large man striding behind them.  

            "Who is that, Mother?" Elinor inquired as they stepped out into the street.  The air was cool, sending chills down the young girl's spine.

            "He is my ride into London, child," came the only answer.  Beatrix held her daughter's hand tight as they made their way to the neighbor's home.  Elinor saw under the light of the moon the glint in her mother's eye; she looked savage.  They stopped at the door of Mrs. Weatherby—a withered old widow who refused to be known as such.

            "Why can't I come too?" Elinor cried as she was placed in the hands of the old woman.  Her mother told her not to worry, that her father would be home soon to take care of her.  "What about you?" the girl asked with tears in her eyes.

            "I will see you again, I promise."  With a kiss on the forehead, Beatrix North thanked Mrs. Weatherby and walked out of her daughter's life forever.

When Samuel North returned home that year he found a note on his kitchen table, explaining the disappearance of the women in his life.  His wife had run off with another man, not able to take the distance and time away any more.  His daughter was only next door with the neighbor.

Surprisingly, he was not upset.  

The sea does strange things to a man.

Or perhaps it didn't really matter as long as he had Elinor.  She was so happy to see him.  His heart sank a little when Elinor explained what her mother had told her.  

            "When will I see her again, Papa?" she asked after kissing his cheek and hugging him tight.  Before Sam could think of an answer she shook her head and said, "Oh, it doesn't matter, as long as _you're_ here!"  They both laughed (Sam out of nervousness) and returned to their home.

A week later it was sold, along with most of their furniture and other various belongings.  So in love with the sea was Sam that he was willing to take his daughter with him and live full-time on the _Horizon_.  There was no need to ever come back to land to live more than a few days.  

Elinor was thrilled beyond words.

And so it went.  Eight years passed while the young girl grew to love the sea herself.  She learned every possible thing she could and met so many people while traveling with her father to India, China, and the Americas.  It was a dream come true.

When she turned nineteen, Samuel North had a talk with his daughter.

            "My next assignment is in the Caribbean," he started, closing the door to his cabin.  Elinor's eyes lit up.  Sam did not look her in the eye.  "I can't afford to take you with me."  He cringed as Elinor shouted.

            "What!?  Why?  Am I a bother?  A nuisance?  I think not.  I do more work and know more than half the men on this ship—"

            "Ellie, I can't afford risking your life.  There are pirates in the Caribbean—vicious, savage, murdering pirates."  He took her face in his hands.  "I don't want to lose you."

            "You won't, Papa," she assured, kissing his hands.

            "That is why you will be joining your uncle in Penzance."

Elinor protested all the way to her uncle's orchard, but stayed put when her father left.  

It was the last time they were to see each other.

_________________________

            "Get on with it, North."

There came a rough shove from the side, and Elinor stumbled into the darkness of the brig.  Dove Merret gave her a stern look.  She didn't have the strength to give one back.

_All those men, dead.__  My father among them._

North strode to Barbossa's cell, her father still on her mind.  The captain lay on his side, arms hanging.  Elinor knelt down on the opposite of the bars and looked into his glazed eyes.

            "You look like hell," she said.  His nostrils flared but his eyes remained fixed on hers.  They sat in silence a moment, before Elinor extended her hand to him.  "Come now, _nolite__ te bastardes carborundorum_."

Barbossa gave a weak smile and lifted his weary head.  He turned toward Merret.

            "Don't worry about him," Elinor soothed, still holding out her hand.  He then turned to his crew, packed into three cells across from them.  "Or them."  When he finally lifted himself from the bench, North stood to welcome him.  His kiss was half-hearted.  "I promise I'll get you out of here," she whispered into his coat as they embraced.  "We'll seek revenge together and restore our dignity."  Barbossa pulled away.  She could tell he was tired, and yet there was something else there.  "What is it?"

            "Strange feelings are stirring within me, lass.  Nausea an' light-headedness, sure.  But somethin' else as well…a feelin' of being here, yet not."  He looked at his hands.  "I feel numb, which is odd teh say cause I can' really feel anythin'."  Barbossa gazed over her shoulder at his men.  "The crew feels the same."  She followed his eyes, noting how many of his crew looked…she couldn't find any other word than…dead.

            "It's probably just this atmosphere," she assured, not convincingly.  She had never seen Barbossa so distraught.

            "You have to get me out of here," he said suddenly, clutching the iron bars.  "We have to get the _Pearl_ back."

            "I'm working on it," she soothed, holding him.  After kissing his forehead she walked back down the lane.  Before reaching the pool of darkening sunlight at the bottom of the stairs a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her to the floor.  She gasped as she fell, only to be met face-to-face with Bootstrap Bill.

            "Bill!" she exclaimed.  He smiled at her, looking fairly healthy.  "You look good, compared to the rest of this lot."  He laughed.

            "Crew's been moanin' all mornin'.  They look sick and are actin' mighty scared."

            "Of what?"

Bootstrap shook his head.  "Don't know."  There was silence as North adjusted herself on the floor, leaning against the bars as Bill did.        

            "Tell me about Jack Sparrow," she said.  She could feel the tension as he shifted against her.

            "Good man," he started.  "Good pirate."  North snorted.  "Not yer typical pirate.  He was merciful, Jack was."

            "A _merciful_ pirate?  Bah!"

            "Well not in a normal man's sense, but definitely a pirate's.  He never shot an unarmed man.  No women or children, neither.  And he never, ever, shot a captain.  Too much respect."  Elinor couldn't believe the man even passed for a pirate.  "It was horrible—what they did teh 'im…what Barbossa did.  He didn' deserve it…the mutiny, the maroonin'…"

            "So you knew him all along?  Were with him from the beginning?" the woman's curiosity obviously troubled Bill.  He cleared his throat, unable to hide the truth any longer.

            "No.  The _Pearl_ and Jack attacked the merchant ship I was workin' on a few years back."

            "Merchant ship?" Elinor's ears perked.

            "Yeah, the captain was lookin' for some good men 'case we were attacked.  I took the job thinkin' it'd be easy money."  He chuckled.  "I've worked on plenty a-ship before, but never in the harsh sun of the Caribbean."

            "So what happened?" the woman asked, impatient with his minor tangent. 

            "Jack left few alive that day.  Usually he takes whatever man power he chooses to keep alive, including the captain—"

            "Because a captain has an obligation to his ship."  Bootstrap stopped.

            "Not just an obligation, lass."  Elinor lowered her head.  Of course not, she knew it was more.

            "He said, though, that the ship weren't what he needed.  Odd behavior, really.  But no one could really blame or question him."  He stopped again, not wanting to go on.

            "Why?" she pushed.

            "Because the captain had been shot."  Elinor inhaled sharply.

            "But Jack never killed—"

            "It was Barbossa, his first mate."  The woman looked at the captain down from where they sat.  "Jack tore him up good after we got back aboard."

            "You went with him?"

            "Obviously.  He offered me a post, said he could use a man like me.  Besides, I had nowhere else teh go.  Anyway, a few weeks after Barbossa and company mutinied.  It was horrible.  I protested all the way up teh the moment we left him on that isle."  He sighed.  "Haven't been on Barbossa's good side ever since."  He finished abruptly.  Elinor thought it odd.

Silence.

Her mind began to turn, putting the pieces of Bill's story together.  A merchant ship in the Caribbean, attacked by pirates, the captain killed.

________________________

It was raining the day that fateful knock came on her uncle's door.  They had just finished supper when it came and Elinor went to answer.

            "Thomas!" she exclaimed, embracing her father's very soaked first mate.  He returned the notion, though with less effort.  When she pulled away, she noticed he was alone.

            "Where's—?"

            "That's why I've come."  Thomas sighed, stepping into the house and taking off his hat.  "Your father…he…"  The large man could hardly get the words out.  He didn't need to.  Elinor knew.

Ellie North died that day.

­________________________

            "What was the name of the merchant ship you worked on?" she asked sternly.

More silence.

            "Bill…" she turned to him, a strong man on the verge of tears.

            "Damnit Elinor, I should have told you sooner."  The woman froze.  Bill placed a hand on hers. "I'm so sorry."

            "It wasn't your fault.  You didn't pull the trigger."  Her unusual calm made him feel uneasy.  He kept apologizing.

            "Elinor," he said softly as she stood, "he doesn't know.  He never asked for his name…I never told him."  North turned to Barbossa, who sat on his bench now.  His hat covered his eyes, his arms were crossed.  He looked smugger than before she spoke with him.  She fought hard to keep the tears back.  But tears of what?  Anger?  Sadness?  No, she had slept with the man who killed her father.  There are no words for that.

            "I'm going to get you out of here," she told Bill.  He nodded, giving her a sympathetic look.  

She walked toward the pool of light, now dimmed to a soft blue glow.  Night had fallen.  She advanced toward the exit, averting her eyes from the captain.  He whistled at her as one would whistle to a whore; he did it in good fun, without knowing what she now knew.

            "Let's go," she commanded Merret.  He had watched her conversations closely, despite not hearing what they were about.  She looked happy to be with the captain, relieved with the other of his crew.

But then something happened while talking to the second pirate, something he could see troubled her to the very core.  He didn't question it.

            "Tell me something, Mr. Merret…"  North paused at the top of the stairs, looking up at the stars.

            "Yes…?" Dove urged, slipping his hands in his pockets.  Elinor blinked back tears before continuing.

            "What would you do to the man who killed your father…if he was in your grasp?"  Merret cleared his throat uneasily, not sure how to answer.

            "I don't know…I never knew my father," he began, admitting something he never admitted with those he didn't know.

            "Oh—"

            "But, if I was in your position," he said quickly, "I would confront the bastard.  If he showed no remorse…well, eye for an eye, I say."

            "Yes, eye for an eye," North repeated softly, lost in thought.

By this time they had reached the captain's cabin.  Elinor ran a hand over the wood, caressing her father's handiwork.  Dove pushed the door open for her.  Inside, Nigel Morissey sat at Elinor's father's desk, writing on official paper, stamped with the seal of the British Navy.

He was the last person she wanted to see that night.

Leaving the woman, the officer took his leave.  Retiring to his chambers, he was to finally receive the rest he deserved.

But Dove Merret did not sleep well that night, troubled by what Elinor North had asked him…and how he had answered.

________________________

_nolite__ te bastardes carborundorum_ = Latin.  Don't let the bastards grind you down.

Please review.


	11. Confrontations

Steal yerself, mates. (Sorry it took so long.) 

* * *

Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 11

* * *

"Evening, Captain North." 

Nigel Morissey clasped his hand to his hat and bowed slightly, saluting North as she entered the cabin. His smirk made the woman want to hurl. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyeing him with a look of madness, driving him back down into the chair. 

How he relished in her discomfort. No matter how much he loved to see her smile, he loved her scowl that much more. Because he knew the feelings, emotions behind it. He loved watching her face grow pale but the tip of her ears grow red. He loved it when her body shook and her fists clenched. He loved her locked jaw.

Picking up his quill, the captain began working, the smirk still on his face.

"Where's my crew?" The scribbling stopped, the smile grew wider.

"Pardon?" He looked up into North's tense face.

"My crew, dammnit! The crew of the _Fates_! Where the bloody hell are they?" She had quite the temper for someone in such a beautiful dress.

"Ah yes, _your_ crew," he teased, as if he had forgotten she even had a crew. "Some are awaiting their 'fates' in Port Royal," he began, rising. "Others, I suppose, are already in Hell. There is no telling how many." His eyes lied and Elinor knew it.

"How many have died?" she demanded, her voice a low rumble.

"Eight was the last count," he replied. "But that was just the day we turned them in." He rounded his desk and leaned in to Elinor. "Nearly two weeks ago." He saw the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise to the ceiling—whether out of fear or anger, he didn't care.

"Who among them?" she asked slowly, both wishing to know and not. Morissey lengthened, pacing in front of her.

"Let's see...there was a very large man among them...Biggs?" Elinor inhaled sharply from behind him. Biggs—her master gunner. "Yes, that was his name. Fit him well, of course, all those rippling muscles. Must have been near 7 feet tall, poor bastard—" He stopped, waiting for Elinor's reaction. None came. With a great deal of self-restraint.

"And I seem to remember a rather gangly fellow who put up quite a fight. What was his name...?" Nigel scratched his chin as if in thought.

"Mahabala." The captain smiled, his back to Elinor.

"Ah yes, dark skinned fellow...funny accent."

"He was Indian." Mahabala, the ship's master. Dammnit. Two of her best, gone. "And the others?" Nigel said he couldn't remember any other names; whether he was being truthful or not (Elinor thought definitely not), she did not press the matter. She sat in thought and detached grief as the captain surveyed her. Taking a step forward, he broke her glazed stare.

"The _Three Fates_ is dead, North." She looked up at him with hard eyes. "She has no crew, no captain—"

"I'm right here!" she exclaimed quickly. "Her spirit still lingers; that you cannot take!" Nigel shook his head and smiled.

"No," he sighed, moving ever closer. "It is over. It was no coincidence that you were aboard the _Pearl_. You want to talk about 'fate'? It was _fate_ that led you there, _fate _that brought you to me...again." He whispered the last word into her ear before returning to his seat. "Enjoy your last few nights aboard this ship. As soon as we pull into port it's going to the scrap yard." Elinor's eyes grew wide.

"You wouldn't dare." He ignored her.

"And you'll be joining the rest of your _crew_." He smiled again—that cruel, wicked, twisted smirk that made Elinor's body go rigid with rancor. The threat of hanging always loomed over her, ever since he had first planted the notion in her head the first time they met.

Elinor closed her eyes, grasping the edge of the desk. She took a slow, deep breath. How long had their chase lasted? Three, four years? The _Fates_ would claim another pirate ship, Morissey would hear of it. Then the call would come.

* * *

"Cap'n—" 

"Yes, Plank?"

"Cap'n, I know yeh don' want teh hear it—"

"_Yes_, Plank?"

"I'm sure yeh can already guess—"

"Plank..."

"It 'appens every time we git ourselves another one—"

"PLANK!"

"Oh, right. It's Morissey. He's on our tail again."

* * *

Every time. It never failed. She would get the call, walk slowly to the bow. Looking out she would see those pail sails and the ugly flag of the King flapping in the hot wind like a fish out of water. Then a flash would invade her vision, and she would catch Morissey looking right back at her. 

How she always eluded him was a mystery even to her. It was something about the _Fates_. It was obviously faster than the captain's warship (_What ever happened to that ship?_ she wondered suddenly). But somehow—Elinor couldn't explain it—every time Morissey gained on them, an island would show up, filled with deep channels and caverns to lose a ship in. Or a storm would roll in, knocking him off course. Or a dense fog would roll over the sea, like a veil shielding the bride from her groom.

Elinor shivered.

Why the _Fates_? Why _always_ her ship? Was it the ship? Or was it _her?_ Did Morissey enjoy chasing after her because she was a woman, because he thought she'd be an easy catch?

A smile played across her lips. _Yeah right_.

It was always a game to her, because she knew deep down that he would never catch her. To him, on the other hand, it seemed much more. Elinor could tell by the look in his eyes the first time they fell upon her...

North blinked and shook her head, torn from her thoughts at the sound of Nigel pounding his quill into the bottom of his inkbottle, salvaging what was left. He cursed, throwing the bottle out the window, then retrieved another from a desk drawer.

Elinor scowled, avoiding his eyes by looking to the wall behind him. Hung against the far wall of the cabin was a portrait she failed to notice earlier. She wondered how she could have missed it as she surveyed it. There hung a massive framed painting of a family of three—father, mother, and son. The husband was dressed in his finest uniform, polished to a shine (and captured beautiful by the artist, Elinor noticed). His son wore his best suit, which by the look of his scowl irked him terribly. The boy's mother rested both hands on his shoulders, displaying a shy smile and a beautiful plum dress.

Elinor touched the dress she wore while she stared—same gold trim, same black under layers...

"Lovely family portrait. I take it those are your parents?" Nigel looked up. "I particularly enjoy your nasty little scowl," she continued, pointing to the boy. "You haven't changed." Morissey slowly turned to look at the painting. He had kept it in that dark corner for a reason. Looking back, he merely stared at Elinor. The lack of emotion erased her smile. Without saying a word, he went back to his work. Confused, Elinor took a good look at the portrait again. There was his mother, in the dress she was wearing. That had to be him as a child, for the boy looked just like him. And his father—

Elinor stopped, her breath caught in her throat. He looked _exactly_ like his father. She scanned the frame of the painting and found a small gold plaque at the bottom.

_Capt. Morissey, Nigel. _

_-with-_

_Nora, wife_

_-and-_

_Jonathan, son_

_1712_

"You," she realized, "_your_ wife, _her _dress." She fumbled for words as she attempted to comprehend this knew knowledge. Why did he lie to her about the dress?

"Yes," he started, setting down his quill and slowly rising, "_my_ wife, _my _son...both killed by _you._" His statement caught Elinor off-guard. Her eye twitched as she gave him a curious look.

"_What?"_

"You don't remember, of course," he continued in a soft, ominous tone. "They were just another pair for the body count."

"What are you talking about? I never kill women or children!" she shouted. Morissey's finger shot up in front of her nose, silencing her.

"No, not _never_. Only _after_ you slaughtered 80 of them during a certain raid aboard a certain passenger ship." Elinor was still lost. "The one and only time you raided a ship other than that of a pirate's...said later that 'it was too easy,' if I recall."

It was then that Elinor remembered.

She never said it was too easy. That day had been more horrific than it had been beneficial. It was their very first raid with her as captain; she had had no idea what she was getting herself into. No, it wasn't "too easy," it was too horrifying. Slaying defenseless women and children...piling the bodies one on top of the other...setting them on fire before exiting...watching the burning inferno sink into the sea...

She vowed never to do it again.

Morissey couldn't hear her thoughts. His voice rose quickly as he continued.

"They were coming to be with me in Port Royal, despite my protests. I told Nora it was too dangerous, especially for women and children. I told her to stay with Jonathan in England, where they were safe from pirates." He glared at Elinor and she immediately recognized the look. She had never seen so much hatred in a person's eyes as the day she came face to face with Nigel Morissey.

And now she understood why.

"Yes, now you understand," he said, his voice low again. "Now you understand my motives, the chase...I don't know how you did it all those years, losing us time and time again..." Sweat dotted his brow as he clenched the desk. "But I never gave up, did I? I was a man set on revenge. I would have the heart of the man who murdered my beloved wife and only child!" He raised his hand to the ceiling, clenching his fist as if he held the imaginary organ. A moment passed, then he relaxed, smoothing out his hair and wiping the moisture from his face.

"Imagine my surprise when I found out that person, the _man_ I was after...the villainous, evil, merciless captain of the _Three Fates_...imagine my surprise when I found out that _man_ was a _woman_." Elinor swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry, her lips parted in awe.

She had never come face-to-face with a surviving member of a victim's family.

"I had no idea—" The resulting explosion from Morissey made Elinor's knees buckle. She covered her ears and backed away, like a child about to be beaten for forgetting her chores.

"Of COURSE YOU HAD NO IDEA! YOU NEVER TAKE INTO ACCOUNT THE SEVERITY OF YOUR ACTIONS, THE LIVES YOU RUIN!" Elinor winced with each word, finally realizing that was happening to her had already happened to him.

Morissey was enraged; his nostrils flared as the lines of his forehead sank into deep crevices. His whole body shook as he pulled his pistol and pointed it at North.

Her eyes widened as she watched. She had backed into the chair in front of the desk while Nigel paced the room, now facing her with his back to the door.

"An eye for an eye," he started, his voice trembling. "You die now as they did four years ago...only I will drag your dead body through every port, town, and _bar_ in the Caribbean, as an _example_ to the rest of your kind..."

North eyed the pistol carefully; it shook so bad she wondered if his aim would be any good.

_I could sure use a drink._ The thought both made her want to smile and wet her pants.

She was about to die.

She shut her eyes tight, wishing she had something to defend herself, waiting for the sound of the shot.

But it never came.

Instead, a loud knock came from behind Morissey, causing Elinor to jump out of her seat. Before he could reply, he was nearly pummeled as the door slammed open, moonlight streaming into the cabin, outlining Dove Merret's enormous frame.

He knew this moment was inevitable; it was another reason he willed the captain to put Elinor down below with the others. He had warned him, but Nigel refused, wanting to get to know his family's killer before she died. After his conversation with Elinor he did go back to his cabin, he did lie down in his bed…but he did _not_ fall asleep. After lying wide-eyed upon his pillow for barely five minutes, he got up again. He threw his clothes back on and stalked out of his rooms. He saw the light in Nigel's cabin but heard no stirring and so went to check on the prisoners.

Between what he saw there and what he heard when he returned, Merret decided he should have stayed in bed.

It was when he heard the captain yelling that he shook his head, flexed his arms, and threw open the door.

"Captain, please. It's the prisoners." When he entered, Dove saw Elinor jump, a look of fear about her. When Morissey's head spun around on him, his hand still held tight his pistol.

"Not now, dammnit!" Nigel shouted, his body still shaking. Merret moved carefully in front of the captain, blocking his view of the woman.

"Sir, I really think you should take a look." Morissey looked positively consumed by madness; Dove could see the muscles in his neck pulsating rapidly, along with the veins in his forehead. His jaw was clenched so tight Merret was unsure if he was capable of speech. And his eyes…the American had never seen eyes full of such insane hatred.

The two men stared at one another a long while, before Nigel hesitantly lowered the pistol with a loud snort. He knew what Merret was doing…saving the whore for the gallows. Trying to save him from a murder charge…that was all. There was nothing wrong with the prisoners.

It was when Dove took his arm and led him to the door that Morissey grew restless.

"Mr. Merret, this is uncalled for," he hissed. "I'm perfectly calm. There is no reason to remove me from my own cabin." Dove stopped when they were outside. He looked back to Elinor who sat slumped in the chair. She was looking around at the ground with wide eyes, as if she had lost money…or her mind.

"Captain, in all honesty, there really is something strange going on down below. You need to look into it." His tone steadied the struggling officer, though Nigel still didn't entirely trust him.

"Very well then," he said, pulling his arm out from Merret's strong grasp. After replacing his pistol, he re-entered the cabin, pointing at North. "I will deal with _you_ later." Elinor merely looked at him, void of any traceable reaction or emotion. Morissey's face tightened before he went outside. After grabbing the nearest rope, he threw it at his officer.

"Secure her, Mr. Merret. I do not wish her to go wandering around this late at night." Dove opened his mouth to protest, but the captain's look stopped him. Nigel straightened his hair and coat before descending the stairs to the main deck. There he stopped and waited.

"Come on, North. You heard the captain." Motioning with the rope in his hands, Dove led the woman to the large doors on his left. They were open to the small platform outside, where a solid railing guarded against a foolish step. Elinor followed obediently, without protest. She was still stunned; not from Nigel's actions, but from their similar situations.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" she asked softly as he pushed her to her knees and brought her wrists up to the barrier. Dove paused, avoiding her penetrating gaze.

"I was a bit too stunned to even respond, if you can imagine." He wrapped the rope around her wrists and through the bars, not all too tightly. "At least you know where he's coming from now." Elinor snorted.

"Not something I wished to know," she said with an edge in her tone. Dove bit his lip as he tied the ends of the line together in one knot. He tugged the chord gently before extending his frame. Elinor craned her neck to look up in his face.

"Just don't do anything I wouldn't do," he warned. She tilted her head, watching him as he crossed the cabin and exited.

"I do _not _appreciate this interruption, Dove," Nigel said sternly as his officer joined him at the bottom of the stairs.

"I know sir," came the simple reply. Uncrossing his arms, the captain followed as Merret descended below deck.

The moon had fallen in the sky, leaving the brig to be lit by three lone torches. Merret grabbed the nearest at the end of the stairs and used it to light their path. The captain shut his eyes tight, reopening them so they adjusted to the darkness. As his officer moved further into the space, his light fell upon the bars of the cells, then poured over the pirates.

Nigel sprang back, his brows furrowed and his lip curled.

"What happened?" he asked, to which Dove shrugged his shoulders. As far as they could tell, every single member of Barbossa's crew had aged thirty years or more in less than a few hours. Their skin was devoid of color, seeming transparent. Great bags sat below their sullen, beady eyes. They looked dirtier than any man the officers had ever seen.

But they were also they _quietest_ men.

Nearly every pirate sat or stood looking down into his hand, mumbling incoherently. Some held a hand high, into the light of the torch. The wicked smile that spread across their faces was due to the fact that they could now admire their beautiful gold coins without squinting into darkness. Morissey looked disgusted as he neared their cell. The men stared without being aware of the man next to him, or of the captain watching them.

"They haven't eaten, and they won't sleep," offered Dove from behind. "All they've been doing is staring at those coins of theirs." Morissey looked at him, then spun around to Barbossa's cell. The _Pearl's_ captain seemed to be missing, until Nigel grabbed the torch from his officer and walked over to the hold. Slumped in the far corner was the body of Captain Barbossa. At first he seemed almost dead; his head hung down over his shoulder, his legs sprawled out beneath him, feet pointing outward. But on closer inspection, he too fingered a coin in his left hand. His eyes were fixed upon it, ignoring the blinding light.

"What _is_ this?" the captain asked as he looked from one cell to the next. Merret offered no answer. The pirates did not take notice of the two men even after they had been watching them for nearly quarter of an hour. Finally, Morissey shoved the torch back into Dove's hand. "Your orders are to stand watch here for the night, Mr. Merret." The officer frowned. "Any changes in their behavior—especially if it's for the worst—and you come straight to me." He surveyed the men one more time. "We'll make them eat in the morning. I want these pirates alive for their hanging."

Merret followed the captain to the stairs, then took his post by the entrance, kicking the nearest thing he could—the table Elinor had bumped into earlier. The Bible fell onto the floor with a hard thud.

Dove winced.

Up above, North had already freed herself from her bind. Merret had been gentle enough so as not to leave bruises, but she was smart enough to arrange her wrists so that she could easily turn them flat and slip the ropes off. She acted quickly, pulling the chair from behind the desk over to the door. It was light enough for her to maneuver, but still heavy enough to leave damage when the time came.

Though she had no idea how much time she had. Pulling the shard of glass from her dress, she positioned herself directly in front of the door. She had no intention of letting Captain Nigel Morissey finish her off that night or any other night.

It was time to reclaim the _Fates_.

When the captain returned to his chambers, mumbling and cursing under his breath, he was met with the startling image of Elinor standing beyond his door. An evil smile welcomed him.

"What the—?" He had no time to finish. As soon he entered, North threw the glass as hard as she could, sending it straight into Nigel's thigh. He landed hard on the wood floor, a great howl escaping from within. As he held his injury, Elinor went to the chair next to him. With all her might, she raised it high and slammed it across Morissey's knelt body.

Cursing his cry of pain, knowing that someone must have heard, she searched quickly for his pistol. Just as she found it, she stood to find Merret catching his breath at the door, the torch still in his hand.

"Your keys, Mr. Merret," she demanded, aiming the pistol between his eyes. Dove looked down at the unconscious form of his captain, then up to North. He scowled before reaching to his side. Elinor held out her hand. As he dropped his set of keys into her palm, she surveyed them quickly; there were too many.

"Show me which one unlocks the cells." Merret pointed. Elinor nodded before motioning with the pistol for him to enter the chamber. As he came forward, she snatched the torch from him. She backed slowly out the door after checking to see if anyone else had come to the rescue.

Thinking fast, she pointed and asked, "And which one locks this door?" Dove stared, then sighed.

"This one," he answered, pointing to the largest brass key. North smirked as she started to close the door on Merret and the captain.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she warned before locking them in. Outside, she could tell that dawn was fast approaching; she had to act quickly. Inside the cabin, Merret was shouting, hoping someone would hear. Elinor cursed him and herself for not throwing something heavy to shut him up as well. Stumbling down the stairs, she squinted into the darkness. Replacing the torch, she let it spill over the area and light her way.

There were the pirates, still looking as if death had come to them in the night. North drew in a sharp breath. As she stared, she saw a tall figure stand where she had spoken with Bootstrap earlier.

"Elinor," he breathed, motioning her toward him. She shook herself out of the stare, fumbling with the keys as she made her way to the prisoners.

"What's happened to them?" she asked, attempting to remember which was the right key. Bill merely shook his head and watched her tremble as she worked. Overhead bounding footsteps and shouts could be heard. He scrutinized the woman.

"What have you done?" he asked slowly, enunciating his words. North didn't answer, but cursed her memory. Suddenly there was a shout.

"She has my keys! She's going to free the prisoners!" There was another shuffle of feet. Elinor and Bill turned to see a pair of boots bound down the steps. Without thinking, North raised the pistol and fired. Bill covered his ears as the boom bounced off the walls. He looked to Elinor, whose face had turned white. She was still looking at the man she just shot.

It was Dove Merret.

Looking up, Bill heard more shouts. He reached through the bars and grabbed Elinor's wrists.

"Hurry!" he hissed. She nodded, her face suddenly hard. Finally, she found the key she was looking for. After tearing open the door of the cell, Elinor stepped back toward Barbossa's. The pirates woke from their trance, shoving the coins in their pockets. They crowded together as if in a funnel until they were all free from the iron bars. "Thank you," whispered Bill. North pushed him away and he ran to the crowd of men at the back of the prison. There they retrieved their weapons.

Elinor watched silently as they sped past her and up into battle. Behind her, Barbossa cleared his dry throat. She turned slowly, her body going rigid at the sight of him. Despite looking worse than the rest of his crew, he was still easily recognizable. North walked up to him and spat on his boots.

"What—"

"You killed my father," she stated before he could finish. The captain looked at her as if she had three heads.

"I did no such thing," he said defiantly, brushing off his coat. Elinor could feel her ears growing red. She slammed the pistol against the bars, making him jump. Then she reminded him of the _Horizon_, of the time he killed a captain against orders. As she spoke, Barbossa moved back into his cell. His eyes were fixed on her hands as they inserted a key into the lock.

"…And then you marooned him," she finished, stepping into the area. Barbossa blinked before scratching his head.

"I didn' know, lass," he said, coming to her. North struck him hard with the back of her hand. He stumbled, holding his face. Elinor watched as he straightened and came toward her.

"Keep your distance, mate," she warned, raising the pistol level with his heart. He stopped, throwing up his hands in defeat.

"Goin' teh be exactin' yer revenge, then, I suppose?" he asked without fear. Elinor thought a moment, her jaw clenched.

"You and I are finished, Barbossa," she started. He nodded. "If I let you out of this cell, you must promise to help reclaim my ship and rescue my remaining crew in Port Royal." The captain scratched his chin.

"Will I get the _Pearl_ back?"

"Yes."

"Then we have an accord," he said, holding out his hand. Elinor looked to it, still holding up the pistol.

"Give me your word as a man, not a pirate." Barbossa hesitated before answering.

"I swear it," he replied, placing his hand over his heart. "As a man." Seeming satisfied, the woman shook his hand and lowered her weapon. Barbossa left the cell first, leaving Elinor to watch his back as they exited. She winced as she stepped over Merret's dead body. They ascended the stairs side by side, North still shaken by the night's events.

"Nice dress, by the way," Barbossa commented. Elinor silenced him with a stern look. As they emerged on deck, an eerie silence filled the chilled morning air. Looking around, their eyes fell upon Barbossa's men, a few with pistols pointed at Morissey's men—who wasn't among them. Beyond them loomed the _Pearl, _more intimidating and frightful looking than ever. Apparently the men about her had come to the rescue, but had failed like their comrades. All of the men looked frightened, though Nigel's crew wore looks of pure terror on their faces.

"What's goin' on?" the captain asked to no one in particular. Ragetti stepped forward.

"Sir, somethin's…'appened." Barbossa raised an eyebrow, waiting for more. The thin pirate licked his lips before turning to Pintel. "Well go ahead…show 'im," he urged his other half. Pintel stepped forward, raised his pistol…and shot Ragetti right in the heart.

Elinor screamed; everyone else jumped.

"We can't…die, sir," explained Ragetti as he watched his chest swallow the bullet, smoke still simmering above the nonexistent wound.

A smile more wicked than any North had ever seen spread across the captain's lips. He pulled a coin from his pocket, holding it up to eyelevel.

"Some 'cursed' treasure, eh boys?" he asked, though none seem as enthused. After replacing the coin he looked to the new prisoners. "Kill 'em."

"No!" Elinor sprang forward, grabbing the captain's arm. He looked ready to avenge his previous injury. "Gather their weapons," she said quickly. "Lock them in the brig…we'll use them as leverage for my crew." Barbossa looked at her, sucking his bottom lip in thought. Upon deciding, he turned to Bo'sun and nodded. The pirates rounded up every last British soldier aboard the _Fates_ and pushed them below deck. As they were being contained, Elinor went to Bill for answers.

"I 'ave no idea," he said before she even asked. He looked afraid. Elinor sighed. "But I don' think it's 'ad an affect on me," he stated as he lifted up his sleeve. His forearm bled from a deep cut, probably from a British sword. North raised her hand to it in awe. Bootstrap quickly covered it again as the men returned. She looked up but had no words for him.

"Where's Morissey?" Barbossa asked from behind. Elinor spun suspiciously fast.

"In my cabin, still unconscious." Both captains walked to her chambers. The door was open; Elinor shuddered at the thought of it being thrown open by a now-dead Mr. Merret. Inside, Nigel was pulling himself up, rubbing his head. He groaned at the sight of them, both with raised pistols.

* * *

Sources: "Saluting: Origin and Development" (http:www.riv.co.nz/rnza/hist/saluting.htm)

(Mahabala: great strength)

Please review.


	12. Playing with Fire

It's been a long time, and for that I apologize. Hope you remember most of the storyline. But an even greater hope is that you enjoy this chapter…

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Ambrosia of the Sea

Chapter 12

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"How's it feel, North?"

A voice crept from the shadows—a deep growl that curled around Elinor like a python around prey. Standing at the door to her cabin, the notes reached her ears, and she winced. This was not a voice of comfort or companionship. She sensed, for the very first time, the evil that now flowed freely through Barbossa, his crew…and presently, her ship.

Barbossa sat at the far end of the room, fingering an amber bottle of rum. Jack the monkey seemed fully recovered from his run-in with alcohol and now danced across the captain's shoulders. Barbossa did not look at the woman when he addressed her, instead focusing his gaze on the ambrosia he spun in his hands.

Elinor stood with her arms limp at her side, unblinking. Her ship. Her father's ship, really. The one he helped design and build himself, the one she had grown up on, and the one she eventually became captain, then captive, of. Oh how that ship had been corrupted through the years! Starting out as a mere merchant ship—simple tasks, voyages, helping to raise the economy.

Then falling into her hands. She had not had the patience for her father's line of work; she had wanted more. Adventure, yes, but revenge mostly. She had gathered the remaining members of her father's crew and obtained a few more rogues before returning to the sea. Yes, it had started out as revenge; she would find the man that murdered her father.

As they sailed toward the Caribbean, Elinor already knew how to find him—pose as a merchant ship, lure in the pirates, surprise and overtake them. Then search for _him_. The plan was based on chance, perhaps even sheer luck. After three, maybe four attacks, Elinor grew restless; she wanted results.

Thus began her life as a pirate. She left the grunt work to the other buccaneers and waited for them out on the sea. Her crew had warned that it would be harder to attack pirates than the unarmed wealthy, but they had underestimated themselves. They were strong while the others still recovered from their raids on towns and forts. North and her crew grew nearly invincible; every attack became easier than the previous, as if Fate was on their side.

It was when Elinor realized this that she renamed the ship. Not only had it hurt to look at the original name, but the vessel itself was no longer what it used to be. It was different, changed.

They had all changed.

And now, as she remembered her past and wondered about her future, she was reminded of the present as Barbossa repeated his question.

"Fer Chrissake, Elinor, what's in yer head?" he added, leaning forward in his chair—her chair…no, her father's chair, she quickly corrected in her mind. Barbossa dropped his feet from her father's desk, stood on her father's Indian rug, and came slowly toward her father's daughter. Jack slipped to the floor, following obediently. The rum was placed on top of whatever Morissey had last written.

Elinor fingered the keys hanging loosely from her hand. The keys which had triggered the realization of another change, an unwilling shift of possession of the _Fates_—from North to Morissey.

She shuddered at the thought of his name. The man who was so like her. Gripping the keys tight she thought _no_, they were nothing alike. She was a murderer…she was like Barbossa. Barbossa, who, with a look of concern (though would never admit to it) in those pale eyes, seemed ready to catch her should she pass out. Barbossa, who watched her keys with a growing discomfort.

Not her keys. They had changed the locks. They had changed everything—not physically, perhaps spiritually? The air was different, foreign. The aura surrounding the ship was corrupted, worn, defeated. Was it Morissey's fault? For bringing the law where it did not belong? Or was it Barbossa's doing? Who had brought evil upon the _Fates_?

Perhaps even Elinor herself, who brought the feeling of utmost loneliness. Who felt lost on the ship she had spent years with, on the sea she had loved for so long.

Angry tears formed at the corners of her eyes—her mother's deep brown eyes. Eyes that she had always hated because they came from a mother who had left her. Her and her father both. She blinked, inhaling sharply. Barbossa stopped. Digging the keys into her palm she stalked toward the object she had been subconsciously staring at.

Barbossa turned as she passed, but did not try to stop her. Whether because of the curiosity that had overtaken him or the determination that had blanketed her face, nothing was sure. Jack's curiosity pulled him to the desk, where he jumped to watch Elinor at work.

North slipped behind the desk and chair, bypassing the rum that called to her as Sirens do to sailors. Using one of the keys (she didn't know which one—did it matter?), she began tearing the Morissey family portrait from its frame. When she was finished (she had to use a chair to get at the top, not daring to ask Barbossa for help), she rolled the canvas tightly. Then, pulling a box of matches from one of the desk drawers and grabbing the rum, she walked over to the balcony.

A gloomy haze had crept over the sea, blocking most of the sun, blackening the water. Elinor stared down her murky reflection, distorted by the waves. Disconnected, a mess, wondering where to go to find the rest of itself.

Curiosity pushed Barbossa forward. Jack leapt to his shoulder as he passed the desk. Both watched as Elinor doused the portrait in the alcohol, then lit one end of it, throwing it quickly overboard. By this time they stood next to her, both leaning over the rail to get a last look at the flaming remains.

"Rest in peace," she murmured before turning around. She looked over the space, her eyes still far away, and took a long, slow drink from the remaining rum. Her throat burned as if she had never tried the liquid before. Finishing it off, she threw the bottle behind her to join the last of the portrait as it sizzled, popped, and faded into oblivion.

North then pried the plaque off its frame, placing it gently into her dress. As she returned to her desk, Barbossa cleared his throat. He flinched as she spun around on him, brows sunk deep across eyes that seemed to be on fire. She burned into him for a moment before the door behind him crashed open. Jack screamed, scurrying under the bed.

"Your affects, ma'—Cap'n," Ragetti corrected himself as he and Pintel dropped North's chest.

"Bloody idiots," Barbossa huffed at their handling of the trunk. Elinor's eyes lost their spark, but held their coals. She lifted one hand to silence the captain and used the other to wave his men away. As they closed the door behind them, Pintel muttered something about it being "just a bloody trunk."

Inside the cabin, Elinor took inventory of her belongings. Weapons and clothes were all there. She knew better than to look for any apples or rum, shuddering at the memory of how they had disappeared.

North picked out a shirt and breeches, with every intention of changing into them, but was stopped by the _Pearl__'s_ captain.

"Not yet, lass," he said, that old lustful glint in his eye. He smiled at her wide eyes and raised brow.

"Oh no," she started, stuffing her clothes under her arm, "you're not getting anymore of _this_." Slamming the chest shut, she made for the bathroom. Barbossa cut her off, ready to play her game. He crouched as a tiger would before an attack. Elinor looked like the opposing cock, ready to put up quite the fight herself. Before either could make a move, however, the door crashed open once again. This time it was Bo'sun, who ignored whatever it was they had been doing (or about to do). He looked furious.

"Cap'n, Morissey's raisin' hell—" Sure enough, his voice was overtaken by the booming cries of the officer.

"STEELWATER! Get her out here! **STEELWATER!**" So, Elinor thought, he's gone back to calling her that—the name he used when he was chasing his family's murderer. Barbossa stuck out his arm, pointing toward the door.

"After you, Missy," he growled, obviously upset by the interruption. Elinor smirked as she exited the cabin, followed by the captain and Bo'sun. The sight she met erased her grin and brought upon her face a look of pity.

On the main deck stood four of Barbossa's men, each trying to sustain Morissey. He struggled right and left until he saw North. He jumped for her but his captors held strong. For this Elinor was grateful.

"What's this all about, Morissey?" she demanded, angry that he hadn't even been dragged down to the brig yet.

"He was goin' fine till we reached the steps," one of the men explained, who was missing a fairly large chunk of his nose. "Then he just started buckin', screaming fer—"

"I saw what you did, you heinous bitch!" yelled the officer, sticking his face in Elinor's. Funny-nose punched him in the gut once before North stopped him.

"What now?" she asked mockingly, crouching down to his bent frame, tempting him to try and insult her again.

"Filthy whore," he wheezed, not looking at her. She stood, nodding to the men, who proceeded to beat Morissey until he couldn't move and they no longer had to restrain him. "The portrait!" he spat after they were done kicking him. Blood trickled from his mouth as he withered on the wooden boards. "That was all I had left of them." He shut his eyes, on the verge of tears. "And you DESTROYED IT!" he screamed up into her face. Elinor lost her demeanor for a moment before realizing he must have seen the flames as they fell into the water.

"Aye, mate. I did. It's best not to live in the past, you know." She didn't believe a word of that; it was advice that she had never taken herself. Nigel tried to reach out and kick her, but the men were quicker. After a few more good kicks in the chest and back, North raised a hand to push them away.

"Might as well kill me too," came the soft, broken words. Elinor froze. The men around her had heard him and were nodding in agreement. Barbossa stood silent behind the captain, watching in amusement at her handling of the situation.

"Sounds good teh me," Bo'sun said as he dragged Nigel to his feet with one hand. Unmoving, Elinor avoided the officer's icy glare.

"I can't," she whispered.

"Why not!?" Morissey replied quicker than anyone else. "You killed the rest of my family, what more is there?" He paused, wiping blood from his chin. "Just me." Elinor stared at him before slowly shaking her head. Nigel started toward her but was pulled back by the large man behind him.

"Coward!" he shouted. "I have _nothing_ to live for, NOTHING!" He continued his rant, blaming North for his lack of purpose, wanting her to take his life permanently.

When Barbossa could take no more of it, he stepped up to Elinor and placed his pistol in her hand. She looked helplessly at him, not wanting to be in her position. He glared back, annoyed at her hesitation.

"Yes, that's it, do it. Shoot me, Steelwater. **_Shoot me!_**" The man had gone insane, she thought, raising the gun to his eyes. He stood, nodding and grinning like a fool, waiting for her to pull the trigger. After a long minute with no shot, he let out a bellow that shook the entire crew.

"I knew it! You can't do it," he laughed, pointing at her. "You're no pirate. You're still just a _woman_."

Every man aboard turned his gaze to North, whose whole body had tensed—including her finger around the trigger. Nigel waited, eyes darting.

"Well? Wasn't that enough?" he asked, hoping that the insult would push her over the edge. "SHOOT ME!" he screamed. The crew was growing restless. They began shifting, rolling their eyes, waiting impatiently. Pintel muttered, "Do it already," to which many of the crew nodded in agreement.

Elinor licked her lips and tried to steady her trembling body. There was a ringing in her ears as she watched Morissey—dancing around, shouting like a madman, void of any of the decency and respect he once had as a naval officer. He was a sick animal now—a rabid dog that needed to be taken out to the shed and shot.

She had no idea what was stopping her. Normally she would have shot him as soon as the pistol was in her hand—sooner, if she had her own pistol at her side. Something was holding her back. A horrible prospect of being the first in line to enter Hell.

"I…I…"she stammered, the pistol shaking uncontrollably. Tears formed, knees shook—she looked about to collapse. It was then that Barbossa took matters into his own hands. He grabbed the weapon, pushed Elinor out of the way, and shot Morissey in the forehead.

Instantly he crumpled to the ground, where two of the crew picked him up. As they threw him overboard, Barbossa turned to the woman, whose tears were flowing freely.

"You bastard," she whispered, still shaking but with jaw tightly set.

"Only doin' what you bloody well should 'ave done ages ago," he answered, stuffing his pistol back into his coat.

"He was our best leverage!" she found herself shouting after the captain's retreating figure. Was that the reason she hadn't shot him?

Barbossa spun, brows furrowed. He seemed not to remember what she was referring to. After a moment he smiled.

"Ah yes, about that," he started. "Gents, the _Fates_ be draggin'. Time teh lighten the load." The crew rejoiced before setting out to work.

"What? NO!" Elinor shouted as two strong arms grabbed her around the middle. She watched helplessly as each and every member of Morissey's crew was brought up on deck and made to walk the plank. Before the first man reached the end of the line, however, he was shot in the back. The crew laughed hideously as each man was brought up, some begging for their lives. Barbossa's wicked laugh filled Elinor's ears. She kicked and thrust, trying to free herself, but it was no use; the arms tightened with every struggle.

"Yeh didn' think I'd actually risk me neck by goin' into the lion's den, did yeh?" he asked as Elinor bucked. "Most of yer crew's probably dead by now anyway." He grinned as the realization hit her and she relaxed.

"Don't yeh think this has gone far enough, Barbossa?" asked a voice from next to the couple. Bootstrap Bill stood on the steps, arms crossed, watching the spectacle with fowl distaste.

"Questionin' me orders again, eh Bootstrap?" the captain asked, shifting himself and Elinor so that he could look at the lad. "What be yer problem these days, Bill? Yeh've been actin' so…_noble_." He spat out the word as if it were poison.

"No…never," Bill answered quietly, sarcasm dripping. Red crept into Barbossa's face as he pulled himself and Elinor closer to him.

"I have half a mind teh do the same teh you, lad," he hissed into his ear. Elinor could almost see the blood boiling inside Bill.

All those years he had dealt with Barbossa—first when he came onto the _Pearl_ under Jack Sparrow. Jack took a liking to him almost instantly, which caused Barbossa to develop a jealous hatred for the man. The captain often wondered why he hadn't just marooned both of them on that God-forsaken island; at least that way they would have had each other.

When Sparrow was overthrown Bill had taken on a bitter demeanor. He always had something to say about the way Barbossa ran things. He seemed to have lost all respect for piracy—or at least what little he had. After all, he only became a pirate because there was nothing better to do. And even then he never truly thought of himself as one.

Now he was fed up.

"That's enough!" he shouted suddenly, before the first of the last three men were put to death. He threw out his arms, ran down the steps and pushed his way through the men, motioning for the soldier to come off the plank. Barbossa was right behind him, having thrown North to the side. The look on his face was murderous. He pulled his pistol and aimed it at Bill, who stopped in his tracks.

"We can't die, remember?" he reminded, thinking fast. He looked to Elinor, who now stood behind the captain, and hoped that what he said would work.

"Bloody hell," exhaled Barbossa, replacing the gun. Bill heaved a sigh of relief. The captain thought a moment as the men around him waited. Bootstrap had no plan; he just knew he had had enough.

But so had Barbossa.

"Lock him in the brig," he commanded before turning.

"Barbossa, you bastard!" Bill shouted as he was dragged below deck. Elinor watched helplessly as his head disappeared beneath the boards.

* * *

"My my, what a mess you've gotten yourself into now," she stated as she entered her cabin. Her renewed boldness startled her. Barbossa sat at the end of her bed, face in his hands. Quick as lightning he reached for her, grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the bed. North struggled but was quickly pinned as the captain straddled her. As much as he had wanted her before, she seemed too much effort now. He was exhausted and needed to think of a deserving punishment for Bootstrap.

How do you kill a man who cannot be killed?

Elinor grunted as Barbossa rolled off of her. She longed to give him a few scars to match those he already had, but instead watched silently as he went to the window. Night seemed to fall fast—or perhaps it was merely the fog that seemed to grow thicker.

Barbossa looked back just in time to see North disappear into the bathroom, with clothes stuffed tightly under her arm.

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Please review.

NOTE: Only one more chapter to go (I hope), then I'm going to start in on the sequel (which takes place during the movie). This means I get to write Jack and Will…woo hoo! Stick with me, people!


	13. The End of the Beginning

Here it is, everyone. Last chapter. But the story doesn't end here…

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Ambrosia of the Sea 

Chapter 13

* * *

"Come…on…you stupid—"

With all her strength, Elinor pulled on the trapdoor in the bathroom. It was hidden beneath a Middle Eastern prayer rug that her father had bought on one of his many trips. Fantastic blues and golds poured over the surface, now flipped up toward the sink.

She hadn't even thought of it until she was already dressed. The plum gown lay in the corner, crumpled and forgotten. The door in the floor hadn't been opened in so long Elinor feared it had rusted shut. Sweat glistened above her brow as she rolled up her sleeves and gave it one last try.

"About time," she huffed as the door flew open and fell into the floorboards. Frozen, she listened for any sign that Barbossa might have heard her. She knew she was taking too long in the bathroom for any normal person. Hearing footsteps, she slipped onto the ladder leading to the darkness below her. She heard a hard knock as she flipped the rug back in place and quietly closed the door. Lingering only a moment, she listened to the captain's dull roars.

Then she descended. The darkness consumed her as she climbed; a cold chill ran down her spine. She had never liked this path and therefore rarely took it. Where did it end up? Elinor had forgotten. She knew it eventually led to the brig but there was something she would find before that. Sunlight dared not to venture to this part of the ship, so she relied on her careful feet to find the ground.

When they did, she remembered.

Taking a sharp left she stuck her hands out in front of her, searching for the wall. Despite wandering in an open space, she felt the darkness coiling around her, suffocating her. Her breath quickened as she took careful steps. Later she would think herself ridiculous for behaving as she did in the dark space, but the truth was inevitable: she was afraid of the dark.

When Elinor's hands came in contact with wood, she breathed a sigh of relief. Groping up and down, she finally found the latch she was looking for. Sunlight streamed into the area as she opened the small porthole. The prominent smell of salt and sea seeped through to meet her nose. She inhaled deeply as a breeze rustled her hair.

Outside the surface of the ocean lapped but a few feet below the porthole. This room was an escape route hidden from everyone but her father—until his daughter found it on accident.

Behind her was a small rowboat. Beyond that were cupboards that housed two days' supplies should they be needed. Elinor went to them, her stomach lurching. Nothing but cobwebs lined the shelves. She swore quietly, slamming the doors and looking back to the boat. It looked much like the one she had used to get aboard the _Pearl_ in the first place.

How she regretted that rash decision!

Inside was a pair of oars. She picked one up, relishing in the fact that her father once held the same item. After checking the vessel for damage, she went back to the window. Below it was another trap door. This one swung open easily. A faint glow and the dull scent of iron and sweat drifted through the opening. She looked below to the two empty barrels that would easily hide anyone who wished to remain unseen.

After closing the window, Elinor climbed down to the brig.

Luckily there was no one on watch to see her lose her footing on the last rung and tumble into the barrels. Luckily they were heavy enough to withstand her fallen weight.

Regaining her composure, Elinor stood and walked to the only occupied cell.

"Elinor! How did you…?" asked a stunned Bootstrap as she slid down the bars and rubbed her aching shoulder.

"Captain's gotta have her secrets, eh?" She smirked. In the soft light she could make out Bill's tired face and tense body. He seemed to relax only a little at the sight of her.

"Barbossa's gonna kill me," he said after a moment.

"Why?"

"Were yeh just up there?" he asked sarcastically. "He hates me…always has. He has no use for me an' now he's a reason fer killin' me off." Elinor couldn't bring her eyes up to his; she knew it was true.

"You shouldn't have protested—"

"Someone had to. Those bastards deserve to be cursed." North silently agreed as Bill reached in his pocket and pulled out a coin. "And remain cursed." The light reflected off the coin and caught Elinor's eye. Before she could ask Bootstrap took her hand and placed the treasure in it.

"I need yeh teh do somethin' for me," he said, his eyes determined. "I need yeh teh send this to my son."

"You have a son?" Elinor inquired, taken quite by surprise. Bill nodded.

"Yes, in England. Bristol. His mother is a hat maker—"

"Why did you leave them?" she interrupted. Bootstrap sighed.

"I was only s'posed teh be gone a few months. Then it was either join Jack or die alone…at least this way I had a chance of one day seein' them again." Elinor nodded; it was a logical choice. "Not anymore," Bill said softly, looking at his hands. "God, he must be near six…maybe seven." He looked up, as if the answer was written above him, or he was trying to remember his son's face.

After an awkward moment of silence, Bootstrap stuck his hands through the bars and held Elinor's palms, his eyes pleading.

"Please, yeh must give this to 'im. Just get it as far away from Barbossa as yeh can."

"How will this keep them cursed?" she asked, holding the coin up to get a better look at the engraving. The skull seemed to wink at her, and it sent chills to her very core.

"I was the one who translated the inscription fer Barbossa…but I didn' tell 'im everything." He paused as a storyteller surrounded by eager children. "Only by puttin' all the coins back can their lives be returned." Elinor thought that solution to be too simple, but didn't voice her opinion.

"Did it say what the curse will do to them?" Bill shook his head.

"Not sure. There were other marks, but I couldn' make 'em out." He thought a moment. "Obviously, they've aged overnight…Barbossa 'specially. He's going teh get the brunt of it." North nodded in agreement. "Serves him right, mutinous bast—" He froze suddenly, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. Elinor jumped to her feet, slipping the coin in her pocket as Bo'sun appeared on the steps. The large man's eyes grew wide as he stopped at the sight of her. She kept her eyes on him as she walked passed, smiling jubilantly.

"Fraternizin' with the prisoner, eh?" Barbossa asked as she emerged. He was caught off-guard at the sight of her, but recovered quickly. He would find out later how she had escaped her own room.

Elinor ignored him, looking over the men who stood on the deck. An evil grin hung on every face. The evening sun broke through the thick fog for an instant, casting a hideous shadow on all the faces. She saw two men pulling a cannon loose from its position, cackling as they did so.

"What's going on?" she asked, turning to Barbossa. He just smiled. Elinor knew it was the evil grin of the devil. His eyes turned to stone, his heart now black. North felt like she was in a dream—a nightmare, no less. Everything seemed to float around her; black shapes laughed at her, knowing something she didn't.

Suddenly she was pushed aside as Bo'sun pressed through, dragging a struggling Bootstrap from behind. He was led to the canon, now positioned at the opening the plank usually lay. There a rope was tied around his ankles.

"Make sure that knot be nice an' tight, boys," Barbossa said as he brushed passed Elinor. She was confused until the other end of the rope was secured to the cannon.

"What?" she said, taking a step toward the prisoner.

"How do yeh kill a man that can't be killed?" the captain teased, putting an arm out to stop her. "Yeh send 'im teh his own private hell." He motioned for the men to take their positions around the canon. "A watery grave where he'll ne'er escape," he whispered in her ear. He didn't have to hold her back; he knew that she knew it was hopeless. There was nothing she could do for him.

So she stood—limp, her heart pounding in her ears, her head heavy. Bootstrap nodded to her. She reached in her pocket to reassure him then nodded back.

"Say 'hello' teh Jack fer us, eh Bootstrap?" The crew whooped as the cannon was pushed into the sea, but Elinor couldn't hear. The world had stopped all but Bootstrap. The rope was long enough for him to see the gun break the surface. North watched in slow motion as the line disappeared beside the pirate. She brought her eyes up to his, a look of pity on her face.

Bill swallowed hard. He would never see his family again—his beautiful wife, his steadfast son. The last thing he saw as the slack disappeared was the hope in Elinor's eyes.

Then his feet were pulled out from under him. His head hit the deck so hard he was knocked unconscious before being dragged down into the water. Elinor was thankful for that much; at least his death would be that less painful.

There was clapping and cheering when her ears opened up again. Barbossa laughed, clasping Bo'sun on the back. Elinor looked down to her cold ankles, where the fog had drifted aboard. It snaked around her legs before following close behind the captain.

He did not shiver as she had when the serpent curled around him.

North looked around, unsure of what to do with herself. It seemed she had become invisible, a ghost, a memory. Time pressed on but she remained caught in a moment. Only one thought, a single word, flashed in her mind.

_Escape._

Now that Bootstrap was gone, so was her comforting feeling, a sense of safety and sanity. All that was left was Barbossa.

_Escape._

With only that thought driving her, Elinor slipped down into the brig. She no longer thought of her precious ship, her memories of the past. Without pistol or cutlass, she climbed the ladder hidden behind the barrels at the back of the hold. The darkness was more ominous than before. It gripped North with sharp talons, piercing her lungs. Her breathing was irregular, her body tingled with fear. It took her longer to find the window, despite moving faster.

_Escape._

There was no sunlight when she found the porthole, only a dull eerie glow that bathed the room as if in a dream. The sea, however, was calm. For this Elinor was grateful. She only needed the light to find the latch and line for the door. Squinting into the shadows, she walked toward the stern. After clearing the cobwebs, she unhooked the latch and followed the line back into the corner. The rope felt slimy in her hands, old and musty. This exit obviously hadn't been used in a long while.

With all her strength, she carefully let the line slip through her hands, lowering the drawbridge at the back of the _Fates._ Fog poured into the ship, clouding her vision. She couldn't see passed the end of the dock. How was she supposed to find her way to land?

"Not the best night teh go gallivantin' 'round the Caribbean, lass."

Elinor spun so fast she nearly lost her balance. There, at the foot of the ladder, was Barbossa. He smiled, obviously pleased with himself at his discovery.

"Stay away from me," Elinor said sternly as she picked up one of the oars. The captain ignored her and walked around the space, taking it in.

"Impressive," he commented, noticing the ridges on the floor that cradled the boat. "Never woulda thought teh put one of these in the _Pearl_" Elinor watched him closely as he circled, surveying the workmanship, the ingenuity. "So, plannin' teh take an evenin' stroll, are we?" he asked when he was finished.

"Not 'we'," Elinor retorted. "Just me. I'm leaving."

"And just where is it, lass, that yeh think yeh be headed?" Elinor lowered her weapon.

"Just away from here," she said softly, kneeling to undo the ropes holding the boat. A pair of faded boots stepped into her line of vision. She rose to face Barbossa, who seemed to search her eyes—for what, she didn't know.

"Yeh don' have teh do this, lass," he said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders. North glared at him. "The _Fates_ still needs a cap'n. I'm not about teh give up the _Pearl_ fer a smaller ship."

"Get one of your own to do it," she replied, pulling away from him.

"I'd rather have yeh." Elinor's lip curled. Of course he would.

"Why?"

"Yeh know her best. An' yeh amuse me." North snorted, placing her hands on her hips.

"Anything else?" Barbossa's smile faded. His hand went to his pistol, but only brushed it before falling to his side. It was obvious she had her mind set on leaving. So he turned away from her and walked back over to the ladder.

Elinor watched closely as he picked up a sack and a cutlass.

"Yer dagger an' pistol are in here," he said, handing her the bag. She opened the sack and pulled out a bottle of rum.

"So yeh can numb yerself before yeh die," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I could just kill you now and eat you later," she shot back. "Or I could just take Jack with me," she stated as the monkey slipped down the ladder and onto the captain's shoulders. Barbossa took him in his arms, cradling him like a mother her child. Elinor dropped the bag into the boat after pulling out her weapons. She attached them to herself, feeling complete again.

"That's not all, lass." Opening the sack once more, North pulled out a brilliant green apple. Her eyes grew wide with surprise and fruitful lust. "Apparently, the cook's been holdin' out on me," he said, answering her questioning look. Elinor stuffed the fruit in her pocket, next to Bootstrap's coin. She reached for the final item.

A compass.

"That apple should hold yeh over till yeh reach Tortuga." She looked up to him, disbelief written all over her face. What was he doing?

"Which direction?"

"Northeast, about a day's row…or night, as it were." Elinor noticed the lack of contrast in the area. Colors were fading fast.

"I best be on my way then," she said, pushing the boat toward the water. "Send me off, cap'n?" she asked as she stepped in the boat and raised the oars. Barbossa obliged.

As Elinor drifted behind the ship, Jack slipped off of the captain. Both stared at her—an ominous look that startled her. She shook it off and yelled back.

"The dress is on the bathroom floor; it's yours!" Barbossa shook his head discreetly; it was already in his closet aboard the _Pearl_. He tipped his hat to her and turned to close the hatch. Elinor watched quietly as he disappeared behind the boards. As she rowed, the fog reflected the light of the moon. Slowly, the _Fates,_ with the _Pearl_ next to her, faded into the haze.

"Cap'n! The woman's escapin'!" someone shouted as he emerged on deck. He nodded, heading to the bow.

"I know." Twigg stepped up to stand beside him, confusion masking his face.

"Where's she headed?"

"Tortuga."

"Tortuga? Shouldn't she be heading southeast?"

"Aye," replied the captain, never taking his eyes of the fading figure.

He didn't like it when people refused him.

In the morning, Barbossa ordered his men onto the _Pearl_ as Pintel and Ragetti created a fuse in the _Fates' _hold. It led to the large barrels of gun powder held there. They sniggered as they lit the fuse and exited the ship.

Barbossa watched, as he would many years later, a magnificent ship sink to the bottom of the Caribbean. Then, without looking back, he ordered his men to make for Tortuga.

It was time to put all that gold to good use.

* * *

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* * *

Sequel to come soon…


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